31 Days of Winter
by Scrunchy
Summary: 31 short fics that I wrote based on themes stolen from tumblr. They're Sean and Thierry based, full of fluff, and all non-canonical.
1. Chapter 1

So, last night I wrote the last ficlet in a series of small, winter-themed pieces for the month of December. If you follow my tumblr, then you saw them as they went up, as well as other fun Spy/Scout stuff.

Happy New Year, guys!

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day 01 – sweaters

"It is _hideous_."

"Yeah, so? My Ma made it, so you're gonna fucking wear it, because if you don't—_and you will_—_but if you_ _don't_, I will force you into celibacy until you _do _put it on and parade around fucking Fenway Park in it." Sean walked over to poke Spy in the chest, right in the middle of the class emblem knitted across the woolen sweater he was wearing. "Then, and _only then_, will I give you a hand job and _maybe_ a kiss goodnight." It wasn't that the sweater was particularly_ bad_. The stitching was actually very well done. It was the fact that the there was so much _yellow. _It contrasted vididly against the background of their team color, and it just put him off.

"My, we are very pushy today." Spy smirked, enjoying the outburst far more than he was sure was necessary. "You already told her that I would wear it, I assume?" He asked, raising his hand to touch his fingertips to Sean's clenched jaw. The Scout seemed to be daring him to go against his wishes, to say something to set him off.

"Don't make me do it, Spy. I just want what's best for you 'n' me, and my Ma liking you is important. Especially if I want to… y'know." He left it at that, huffing and blushing just a tinge and glaring up at the other man irritably.

Spy chuckled and stepped forward to finger the careful stitching of Sean's own horrid little sweater. Of course he didn't care about wearing his. Sean didn't have any of Spy's own qualms about fashion. "If it will make it easier for you to go about your revelation, I will wear it the entire time that we are in Boston."

Sean finally smiled at Spy and wrapped his arms around his sweater-clad lover. "I don't think I've ever been this fucking nervous."

"You are very silly, _petit_. If your family loves you as much as I, then you are stressing yourself out for nothing."

"Y'think so?" Sean turned his face up just in time to catch Spy's lips, originally aiming for his forehead, on his nose.

"_Oui_, and if they do not, then I get more of your time… holidays, vacations… Once I get you to stop sulking, it will be quite enjoyable."

"Who's sulking?" Sean grabbed Spy's collar and yanked him down for a real kiss.

"_Non_. _Non, non, non_!" Spy allowed but a touch of their lips before he was struggling to unclasp Sean's hands before he pulled away. "I will not have this sweater stretched out by your grabbing and pulling fingers and then be expected to wear it."

"Then take it off, we've got a few weeks before we're leaving anyway. Put it in one of those fancy plastic things you've got for your fancy suits."

"Oh? and then where will I put my fancy suit?" Spy asked, though he _did_ see reason, and pulled the sweater off before Sean could do any more damage.

"I dunno, the floor?"

"Never."

"You're such a fag."

"_Oui_, and so are you."

:::::

day 02 – showball fights

"Snowsnowsnowsnow!" I yell, running around in circles and just fucking _enjoying everything ever_.

Man I've fucking missed snow. Cold Front is pretty much the best fucking base ever. Except when the heater goes out, and we all kind of huddle together until Engie fixes it. It'd be kind of okay if it was _just_ Spy and me huddling together, but… Yeah, _everyone's_like: hey, let's be warm as a team.

Fags.

I struggle to the top of the hill between our actual base and the battlefield, panting clouds of crystallized breath into the air. Man, it's fucking beautiful out here. Completely white and untouched.

Too bad there's going to be blood _everywhere_tomorrow.

I spot a disturbance off to the side farther down the hill, and stare at it for a bit before grinning and leaning down to make a snowball. I ain't too worried about it being the enemy Spy. He has it coming if he's just wandering around on the enemy's side during ceasefire. If it's my Spy, though, he's probably going to be pissed.

I launch the ball, and it's good. An outline in our team color flickers into view and the back of Spy's head gets covered in wet snow. I grin and bend down to do another.

When I stand back up, he's gone. I didn't really expect him to stand still or anything, but now I can't even see his footprints—it's like he just disappeared. Fucking Spies.

I've been standing there a few minutes, searching the blinding white expanse for some kind of clue where he went. The snowball is melting all over my hands and soaking through my mittens when something cold pelts me in the back of the head. I drop my own ruined ball and when I turn, another ball hits me in the face, wiping the grin off my face.

"Ugh, fuck!" I wipe at my face, but my cold, wet mittens kind of _don't help at all_. I lean down and scoop up more snow to make my own ball just as Spy cloaks again with a chuckle.

I rush forward, trying to make him move around and give away where he is. "C'mon, man." I try to make my voice sound less menacing, but I'm pretty sure that my grin is a little manic. I kind of get into it when I have snowball fights. "You got two on me." I try to sound like my Ma when one of us is hiding from getting our ass whipped. "I just want one more, and then we can go inside and chill by the fire. I'll let you make me some hot chocolate." I hear snow crunch behind me, but when I turn around, I can't tell which prints are new and which are old.

Shit.

There's another few minutes where Spy's a cowardly ass and hides like a little bitch, then I get hit in the back of the head again.

"God, stop cloaking!" I throw the ball I'd been juggling back and forth to keep it from melting and it hits Spy in the chest. I scoop up one more and wind up before launching it at his silhouetted wrist. It hits his forearm, but I follow up with another that he barely dodges, finally figuring out what I'm trying for.

"Do _not_ get my watch wet you little miscreant! I'll stop cloaking." He promises, holding up his right hand and tucking his left hand in his overcoat's pocket and hiding that side from me.

Hah, got him. I toss my next snowball at his face and he blows a clump of splattered snow from his mouth before raising his hand to wipe the rest away from his mask.

"If we are to fight properly, we will need forts, _oui_?" Spy pulls his left hand out of his pocket and takes his watch off before tucking it safely into his vest pocket. I walk over and lean on his shoulder as we survey the area together.

"I call that space over there." I tell him, pointing to a stack of wood. I like having something to work with, makes the rest of the fort that much easier to build up.

"Alright, and that rock shall be mine." Spy's hand smacks my ass before his shoulder moves out from under my elbow and I'm left glaring at his back as he strides off.

"Hey, when I say _no faggy shit_ outside the base—"

"_Oui_, _oui, _you _really mean it_." He snickers to himself, not even looking back, the prick.

I lean down and toss a snowball at the back of his head before racing toward my fort. A ball of snow hits my shoulder, and then our cease-fire resumes as we get to work on the forts. We probably couldn't hit the other without getting another ball back, so despite both of us being cheating assholes, I guess we decide to play by the rules for a bit.

I slide one of the boards out a bit and build up the snow on top of the other end and in front of it so that I'll have some top cover. Man, I'm so smart. It doesn't take me long to get a wall up and start working on my stock-pile of snowballs. I glance over at Spy a few times and he's smoking and slowly building a wall. I wonder if Spy's ever had a legitimate snowball fight before. He seemed kind of unsure about the forts, or maybe that was a rhetorical "_oui_"?

Whatever, if he needs some pointers, I'll give him lessons after I kick his ass in snowball fighting.

I give him a few more minutes after I'm completely done, just as a courtesy or whatever, and then I yell, "I'm ready, let's get this started!"

"_Oui_, I'm done too." He calls back, and I hear a snowball hit my wall. It stays up because I'm _fucking good_ at this, and I grab one of my own, tossing it over my own fort and over the rock, where he's most likely to be.

I hear it splat, followed by a soft curse in French and grin before chucking another one. He moved, because I hear it hit snow, and another ball flies back at me. I duck and it easily soars over my head. Man he sucks at this. I'll have to ask him if it's because he's old or gay or French. He'll love that one, probably slap me and then try to keep me out of his room for a few nights. Like that's going to work. Pft.

We exchange a few more snowballs, and the pace picks up as he finds the perfect kind of rhythm to throw and duck, and I'm going easy on him right now, so he's not completely screwed yet. As suddenly as we started to really get into it, the snowballs stop flying from his side, and I give him a second to build up his stock again.

Mine's only about half gone, because I remake them as I go—I've got a system. The better part of two decades of winters gives you that kind of skill.

After an entire fucking slow-ass minute has passed, I sit up on my knees and look over at his fort. "Hey, Spy, you ready yet?" I call across, resting my arms on the top of my neck-high snow wall. He doesn't answer, and I scowl before picking up a snowball and tossing it at his wall. It's really crappily made, and I was kind of avoiding hitting it just in case I broke it and he stopped us so he could fix it because _it's not fair_. This is a snow war—like Soldier says, there _is no quarter in war_. I'm pretty sure he would count a snow war—which I never want to have with him. He's probably one of those douchefags that hides rocks in his snowballs.

I wait for about ten seconds (that take _forever_), and then I toss another snowball. It hits his wall hard, and crumbles a little.

"C'mon, y'coward." I build up my stash before throwing another one _hard_. The half farthest from the rock collapses, and I frown. I pelt down the rest of it and glance the edge of his jacket behind the rock. Grinning, I make a huge snowball and lob it over.

I've just barely ducked back down, reaching blindly for a snowball from my stash when I realize it's not there anymore. Snow rains down on my head, and gets in my hair and _down my fucking shirt and jacket and just _**fuck**.

"Fucking _fuck_."

Spy's laughing.

"FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK—SHUT UP, THIS SHIT IS COLD." I scream at him, writhing on the ground, trying to wiggle the snow out of my shirt and jacket, but it goes down the back of my pants and just _god damn fucking ugh_. "_I told you not to use your watch, you little bitch_." I'm kind of shrieking, bit it's okay because Spy's the only one out here to hear it and just _fuck_ he's such an_asshole_.

"I didn't." He tells me, and I can hear the flick of his lighter even though I'm still trying to fight with the now-melted water in my clothes and still-melting snow that keeps dropping down from my hood onto my neck. "I just went down the hill and then came up and stood here."

I don't reply, finally getting some success in getting the shit out of my clothes. The colder shit anyway. The water isn't as bad as it was anymore until more melts in its place. _FUCK_**.**

Spy sighs and his hand reaches down to help me to my feet. I grab his hand and jerk him down. His face plants in my fort wall, and he grumbles about his ruined cigarette as he rolls over to lay on top of me and pushes his elbow back into my ribs. We struggle with each other in the snow for a while, and just as I stop feeling as pissed at him, we start rolling down the goddamned hill.

I end up on top and the fight resumes until I've gotten my fill of half-hearted punches and barely-missed knees to his groin. He smirks up at me as I finally stop trying to shove snow in his pants and fully sit up, straddling his thighs.

"Is it time for hot chocolate?" He asks, and my half-frozen face breaks into a grin I can't stop.

"I still hate you." I announce, standing and starting to walk back toward the base.

"Hmm… but you _won't_ after my hot chocolate." He promises, catching up so that we're walking side by side.

I pull my mitten off and reach for his hand. I don't have to look at him to know that he's grinning triumphantly. "We'll see, asshole."

:::::

day 03 - hot chocolate/hot drinks

One square of chocolate with a cup of milk and a quarter of a cup of sugar, melted together and brought to boiling in a small saucepan. Add another cup of milk, stir. Remove from heat and serve immediately.

I left Sean bundled in several blankets in front of the fireplace in our common room. Medic gave us both a stern talking to when he saw how wet and cold we were, coming in from the snow. I don't think that any of it really sunk in for Sean, since he demanded a rematch with "no fucking cheating" as soon as Medic was out of earshot. I chuckle softly as I pour the warm drink into a mug and leave the rest on a low setting to keep warm—I know that he will want seconds, after all.

My tea is done steeping, and I toss the teabag away before stirring in a spoonful of sugar. Both mugs in hand, I return to the common room.

The wooden floorboards creak beneath me as I leave the tile of the hallway, and Sean turns to grin at me. He unbundles enough, and I hand him his chocolate while I slip inside the warm cocoon.

"Thanks." He tells me, blowing at it before taking a sip. He takes another and curses when he burns his tongue.

"It is hot, _petit_." I blow on my own tea, but don't take a drink yet, too immersed in absorbing the warmth and companionship of my lover's side pressed against mine.

"You okay?" He asks, looking up at me and then moving to rest his head on my shoulder. He's very sensitive to the manner in which I say things, and knows that this cold weather is really not my ideal setting.

"Hm… yes, just tired. I do better in warm climates." I tell him with a soft chuckle. My lips find his hair, and he shifts so that his mouth can press to mine lightly before withdrawing. He settles back on my shoulder again and yawns before taking another sip.

"You're weird. I'm still ready to do stuff." He's a horrible little liar, but I smile at his attempt and pet his side with my mugless hand.

"Perhaps we can nap after our warm drink, then." I suggest, finally taking a sip of my tea.

He snorts and one of his hands strays to rest over the one I have on his side. "If Medic ever lets us leave this blanket… 'Stay in front of ze fiah, dumbcocks!' "

"It is _dummkopfs_… actually. You are horrible at mimickry."

"You are _'orrible_ at mimickry."

I chuckle and sip my tea. "Ah, you are getting better at my accent, _amor_."

"Don't call me that if we're not in our rooms." The way he mumbles it is half-hearted, though. I think he has finally accepted that I_will_ call him _whatever_ I like _wherever_ I like.

He finishes his hot chocolate and curls into my side as I slowly, slowly sip my tea.

"Do you want more?" I ask, but he just grunts at me. A small smile tugs at my lips and I pull the blankets tighter around us.

Napping on the floor is sure to make my back ache, but for Sean… well, I'm willing to make a few sacrifices.

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day 04 – books

It's ridiculous how much Spy hates winter. He stays inside pretty much _all the time _when we're not fighting. He'll either be in the common room next to the fire, or in his room doing Spy stuff. Sometimes he'll even be in my room, napping, or looking through my cards or magazines. When I'm not doing my own thing, I'll find him and try to get some nookie out of him, but he says that the cold saps his libido, and we don't get in a lot of screwing around most times.

Back at our old base, Spy would read a lot, but here the town is a lot farther away, and he always says that he hates rereading his old books. He does it anyway, just to keep himself occupied, but I know he's jonsing for something new. Mail comes in the evenings after we've already finished fighting, and Spy doesn't even show up for it, just stays in his room all pissy and cold. Christ, and he says I act like a kid sometimes.

I had a lot of time in prison, and gained a pretty good appreciation for books. I mean, I already had to read in school and it wasn't that bad, but I'd never read for fucking _entertainment_ before I got locked up. Ma used to send me books, usually stuff that I'd never even think to read, but she thought it would be interesting.

I head back to my room and dump my letters and packages on it, but there's one from Ma that I take with me.

He groans when I open the door, and sits back from his desk, still in his coat and jacket and looking like he's pissed at the world for being cold this far north. "Sean, not today. I'm in no mood for your needy little sex drive."

It stings a little, but I smirk anyway. "Don't care, get on the bed." I tell him, putting the package down and swooping in for a kiss. He gives it to me, even though he's acting like a dick.

"_Non_, I have work to do, and—"

"It'll only take a few minutes—like half an hour, tops." I promise, grabbing under his arm and lifting up. Eventually, his old-ass body starts to rise and he heads for the bed. I pull his coat off and let it drape over the back of his chair, followed by his jacket before I zip around to get his tie.

"How romantic." He snorts and raises his hands, but I bat them away because I'm good at this now. Practice makes perfect—I get the tie off without any real problems.

"Yep. Now get under the covers and prop your back against the headboard."

"With my clothes on?" He sounds surprised as he toes off his shoes and slowly moves to do as I say, arranging the pillows and fluffing them. "When shall I start the timer?"

"Yeah." I toss my shoes over next to the door and ignore his assholery as I turn around and open the box Ma'd sent me. There's a note, but I ignore it for now, just grabbing the leather-bound book from the bottom and checking the title page. Spy just kind of stares at me as I climb into his bed and force my ass between his legs. Once I'm settled, leaning back against his chest, book on my lap and one of his hands running through my hair, I speak again. "Alright. We're gonna read a chapter or two of this big ass book." I open it to the title page, grab his hands one by one to let him hold the book and snuggle down expectantly.

"_The Complete and Unabridged Collection of Sherlock Holmes_…" He reads. I hear a slight smile in his voice and turn the page while he holds the book.

"Get readin'. You've got work, remember?" I feel his chin rest on my shoulder, and his lips kiss my neck lightly.

"_Oui_… but I think it can wait until tomorrow." He relaxes more, and I jump up to get another blanket for us, now that I know he's going to go with it.

"Good, because this is a great book." I settle myself between his legs again, and lean back, the covers up to our chests with his hands holding the book and mine turning pages again. We'd already read _A Study in Scarlet _before—he has a little paperback cope of it—so I skip to _The Sign of the Four_.

"Would you like a British accent as well?" He smirks against my hair, and I grin as I turn to look at him.

"Duh."

He kisses me, one of those lingering ones that I just don't want to pull back from.

They always end, though, and I turn back to the book only a little disappointed.

"Cheerio, then."

:::::

day 05 – iceskating

"Oh my fucking _God_, you _would_."

I smirk, my lips sting with cold, but it's worth it to get this sort of a reaction from Sean.

I perform a pirouette and hold my landing on the way back to my Scout pouting at the edge of the frozen lake.

When I offer him my hand, he crosses his arms and shakes his head. "Nope, nope. No way am I gonna skate with you if you're going to be doing faggoty tricks, and poncy jumps. _No_."

I chuckle and grab one of his hands, pulling him unwillingly with me farther out onto the ice. "Have you been hanging around Sniper again? Do I need to check you for fleas or that you're washing properly?" I ask, smirking at his glare. He doesn't say anything, just fights against my pulling hands. I sigh and gently pull him forward and into my arms. "I will not do anymore tricks." I promise, and his glare softens only slightly.

"Fucking promise. Because there ain't no one here now, but I know people in this city, and it's not like they're above spreading rumors." He grumbles that last part and shoves me away before skating on his own.

"Hmm… _oui_, and it would not be good for your mother to find out about us from hearing that you held my hand while we skated. And, oh, _mon Dieu_! He figure skates too? He must be wonderful in bed, can I really blame my youngest son for seducing an older gentlema—" he pushes me as he loops by, and I allow myself to go into several turns to slow myself and keep my balance.

"Shut the fuck up, you asshole." Sean skates away from me again, mumbling under his breath.

Grinning, I follow. We race along the ice, performing laps around the edges until my legs and hips inform me that I have not performed this task in several years. I slowly circle the middle of the lake, watching Sean zoom by in a dark blur.

Eventually, he tires of racing himself, and circles to a slow stop in front of me. I stop myself as well, and he stares up at me, panting crystalline clouds into the air. He has exhausted his frustration with me, and I would _love_ to kiss him at the moment, but there is a time and a place that he will _not _kick me in the shin for doing so. Medic is probably in Germany at the moment, and I do not wish to have stitches for the rest of this holiday.

After a moment of staring at me, he grips my scarf and pulls gently while skating backwards. I follow, matching his slow, drifting speed.

He lets go of my scarf and glances around, ever nervous. "So, where'd you learn how to skate like that?" He asks, shoving his hands into his pockets, apparently satisfied with the distance between us.

"I cannot tell you that without breaking my contract." I tell him, winking and making shallow swizzles as I drift forward across the ice, ever careful not to get too close.

"They really teach you this shit as part of training?" He makes a face, and I chuckle. "That's _gay_ what if a Spy is really fucking bad at it? Do they keep him from being a Spy? Does he not get to graduate from Spy school?"

I shrug, and turn around to skate away from him.

"Hey, hey fucking wait a minute! C'mon, Spy. Tell me 'bout your Spy School!"

He continues to shout at me about this and that as we loop around the lake, cutting a myriad of grooves across the already rough ice with our skates.

I eventually give into his pleas, but it's not until after we've returned to our hotel. _Much_ after.

:::::

day 06 – parkas/big jackets

"Fuck, it's so fucking cold." I hiss out, shivering from my post next to a small, pretty fucking useless heater Engie'd cooked up. He'd warned me that it would fade in and out of warming regularly, but _fuck_. I don't know if it's better to have heat _sometimes_ or not at all, because then you go from being nice and warm to being ball-shrinking cold again.

_FUCK_.

I huddle closer to the ebbing heat of the little machine, trying to get the last of it. I bet Spy's layin' in his bed, all fucking warm and asleep while I'm out here on goddamned watch. I feel like throwing a bitch-fit at my imagination when it reminds me that I could_totally be there too_. If I just hadn't fucking hauled off and punched Solly, I could be wrapped in Spy's arms, warm and comfortable and probably sleeping off the ache of having him screw me.

I groan softly in the back of my throat at the thought and clutch my gun closer to me as I peer out at the dark. God, I don't want to be out here.

I smell him before I hear him. That's pretty normal, though. The enemy Spy smokes a different brand than my Spy, so I don't freak out, just kind of cautiously turn and prod the air with my shotgun.

"If you shoot me with that, I will leave and never come back while you take watch." He warns softly as he uncloaks. He looks weird—bulky. It looks like he's wearing a different jacket than usual. I guess it's warmer and harder to get around in than the one he uses when we're fighting.

"Y-yeah…" my teeth chatter together when I talk, and I don't like the way it makes him look at me. Like he's thinking about pitying me or something. Fuck no. I clench my jaw again and turn back to the cold. I feel like my ass is frozen to the fucking wood I'm sitting on. My back aches from being in the same position, but if I move, my coat won't cover my legs and my knees tucked against my chin. "F-f-fucking f-f-uck-k off-ff…" I chitter out, feeling heat rush to my frozen cheeks and burn them.

Ugh.

I hear him suck in on his cigarette, and the boards creak slightly when he shifts toward me.

"Stand up." He tells me, but I'm not taking any shit from him. I'm goddamned cold, why would I fucking stand up when it's just going to make me fucking colder? Jesus fuck.

"No."

"Sean…"

"No, just f-f-fucking go b-back ins-s-side. You hate the w-weather, and just f-f-f-f-_FUCK_."

"Hm… you're so cold you can't even curse properly. _ Stand up_."

"Don't tell me what to do, _old man_. Just go back inside before the cold gives you a _stroke_ or…" I stop mid-sentence because something heavy and warm—God, it smells like Spy's cologne— drops around my shoulders. I drop my gun to pull it closer around me. The fur around the hood tickles my ears and cheeks, and I shift up and scoot back so that my ass is on the bottom part of the back. Fuck, it's so nice.

I turn to look for Spy, but he's not there anymore. My voice cracks when I call for him, but he doesn't reply. The coat's too big to be his, and if I burry my face far enough into the fur, I can smell salami and cheese. I search the million fucking pockets and come out with two sandwiches and a small thermos of something hot. I put the thermos away, even though I really want to drink what's in there. I know what it is, and it'll only make me feel even more like an ass.

I eat half of one of the sandwiches and leave the others for when I need a pick me up. I've still got the rest of the night to sit out here and feel like a douche.

Around 2 am, I break down and drink the hot chocolate mixed with coffee from the thermos.

:::::

day 07 – sledding

The crack of a can opening seemed louder than a gunshot in the desolate winter wonderland. Blood splattered the snow, and there were footprints everywhere from large boots and larger holes where dead bodies had fallen before being picked up by the respawn system.

"Sean, for the last time, just _kill me_. I will be in _respawn_ by the time you get back to the—" Thierry was cut off as the runner finished chugging his Bonk! Atomic Punch and shot forward.

The rope didn't sting his gloved hands, but the strain of holding the half-frozen, and therefore slick, ends made the joints in his fingers ache. They were almost there, and he really just wished that the Spy half-lying on a sheet of metal salvaged from a fucked dispenser would just _shut. Up._

The rush wore off in mere seconds, but they were farther than Sean would have been able to go with just walking, so it was worth it. He glanced in his bag and ran his fingers over the remaining cans. It was strange that they didn't freeze in the frigid air, but he guessed it was all the radiation that was packed into each can. Perpetual motion, or something like that. Science was never his best subject. Being back-assed stubborn, however, was his A++ course.

"Sean, please, just save yourself the trouble…" the way it was said made Sean only slow for a second before he started fighting his way through the snow again, this time with a renewed determination. They were almost to the top of the hill, then it would be all level to the base. Someone might actually see them too, and come help drag the Spy's faggy, blown-to-bits ass inside so that Medic could heal him back together.

He didn't like looking back at the MacGyver sled, or the man resting on it. He didn't like knowing that Thierry could be so calm with that much _pain_.

Sure, the cold was probably numbing a lot of it, but… his mind brought up the scars marring Thierry's body. They were all over—thick and thin, crisscrossing and parallel, mauve and white. He'd had a lot more pain than just this before. Sean didn't like to think about it, though.

The Scout's breaths came harder as he strained himself to his limits. He had to wait between cans; Medic had told him his heart_would_ explode if he didn't. When Medic didn't use, "ach, it might…" or "oh, there's a chance…" then he was _deadly_ serious. Sean lost count of the seconds since his last can and just kept moving, one foot after the other… slowly dragging a trail of less and less blood through the snow. Once they broke the hill, he tried running. The snow was more hard packed than before, and he had more success.

"Just shut up…" he muttered when Thierry attempted to speak again. He hadn't been listening to the Spy's macabre pleas for death, and he certainly wasn't going to kill his lover, though it seemed more and more like the only option to get him to stop asking.

They finally reached the base, and Sean slammed his fist into the reinforced metal door. It hurt like a bitch, but he did it again anyway.

"Medic!" he paused for a second, "Medic! Doc, c'mon, man!" He glanced back at Thierry and the paleness of his skin showing from beneath the blood soaked mask made his stomach turn. "Fuck! You guys, let us in, Spy needs fuckin'—" the door opened and Sean stumbled back before it could knock him down.

"What in tarnation—? " Engineer stopped mid-step when he saw the mangled Spy on the chunk of dispenser, and the Scout's hands frozen in a curl around the rope connecting him to the disaster.

"Engie…" Sean felt his throat tighten with relief and painfully forced his fingers to drop the rope. "Help me, man. Help me get him to doc." He leaned down and pulled one of Thierry's arms around his shoulders.

"Kid…" Engineer didn't want to say it, but the situation was strange. Even if they were friends, they saw each other die every day. Hell, Scout had waved at him once when he'd seen him getting his ass blown to high-hell. Yet here he was now, hauling the half-frozen carcass of their Spy across the map and then all the way from the battlefield back to the base. His winter jacket was off and thrown over the Frenchman, and all he had now was his sweater, gloves and jeans.

"Engie, _please_." Sean tried to lift the Spy by himself again, but his legs trembled with the strain. He was already bone-tired after the battle, and now he was pushing himself past his limits.

"Alright, son." He stepped forward and slung Thierry's other arm over his shoulders, and they started dragging him through the open door and deeper into the warm base.

Engineer was a practical man, and what they were doing with the Spy wasn't practical at all. However, if it got that look off of the Scout's face—the one where his heart was slowly being ripped out as long as the Spy kept bleeding like he was—it was worth it to be impractical.

:::::

day 08 – snow angels

I didn't really know what to expect when I brought Spy home for Christmas. He might hang around with the older family, and woo them with his dumb, fancy Frenchness. I don't know, teach them about wines and cheese or give them fashion advice (God knows they all need it). This, though…

I never thought I'd see him down on his knees in the snow, carefully instructing my little cousin Sammy on how to make a _fucking snow angel_ "properly." She's hooked, and the only kid brave enough to talk to him. I never noticed how intimidating Spy could be before I tried looking at him through a kid's eyes: tall, imposing, commanding the attention in every room he enters. He doesn't smile a lot around other people. He does when he looks at me, though—I've started to notice that more often since we got here.

"_Non_, _ma chérie,_ you must bring your arms _all the way_— Yes, like that!" He grins at her and she beams back as she flails her arms and legs more enthusiastically. "Now, your legs should come out as farrrrrr as you can reach! Is that it? That can't possibly be as far as you can go. Sean, are you the only flexible one in your family?" He looks up at me, and I just keep staring. "What?"

"Nothin'." I smile and shake my head. "God, you're such a fag."

"Sean, don't say such things in front of the children." He pouts at me and covers Sammy's ears with his hands, making her giggle and fight him, tugging at his wrists and shaking her head while squealing about how she wants to hear, and how adult she is. He picks her up and sets her down outside her actually-pretty-good snow angel and brushes the snow from her hair and back. "No, no, ma cheri, you are not adult at all." He pinches her cheeks and stands gracefully (for an old fart). She grabs at his hand, and he doesn't pull away, just studies the angel like it's a work of fucking art. "Hmm… There is something missing." He finally says, and Sammy looks up at him before crossing her arms and holding her chin in one of her tiny hands.

"Hmm…!" she agrees, studying it for as long as her itty-bitty attention span will let her. "What's it missing?" She finally asks, looking up at him with those big ass brown eyes she didn't get from any of _our_ side of the family.

"_Une aureole_!" Spy snaps his fingers and steps forward to bend down.

"An oreo?" She follows him and drops to her knees to watch him draw a oval in the snow, perpendicular to the angel.

"Eh…" Spy sits back from making the adjustment and waves his hand around like he's trying to remember a word. I've never seen him do that before. I've seen Medic and Heavy (especially Heavy) and even Sniper do it when he's talking all Australian about something and I want him to speak actual fucking English. "Ah…" he smiles down at her and points to the oval. "It was missing its _halo_."

"Oh yeahhhhh!" Sammy giggles and moves her finger to draw rays of light coming off of the oval, and I turn around to kind of act like I'm supervising the other brats.

Hands rest on my shoulders, and Sammy runs past me to teach the other kids what Spy had just told her. "What a nosy little Scout I have." He chuckles next to my ear.

"I wasn't doin' nothing." I tell him, trying to shrug off his hands, but they just start rubbing circles into my shoulders.

"I know." The hands withdraw, and he steps up to stand beside me, his elbow and arm brushing mine as he pulls out a fresh cigarette and lights it. "So, when will you be telling your mother?" The way he asks it only makes the disappointment inside more apparent.

I'd been putting off the whole reason I drug him home for the past few days. I just wanted to enjoy home while I still could. You know… just in case.

"Tonight." I tell him, reaching over to steal a drag from his cigarette. It warms me from the inside, and I enjoy the taste of it too. It's what Spy tastes like most of the time.

"_Oui_… like last night, and the night before." He offers it to me this time, and I take another drag before handing it back and stepping forward. Fights break out in our family pretty much on a timer. They're really convenient at times like this.

"Hey, you bloody Jay's nose and I'll tell your ma it was _you_ that stole the pie from the icebox." My warning settles down the kids, but I don't think anything could possibly help my stomach.

I gotta do this, I just don't… know _how_.

:::::

day 09 – fireplace/candles

(This is supposed to be Sean making up for 06.)

I'm not an idiot for forgetting to include that. No.

Sandalwood mingles with wood smoke and, despite Sean's previous instruction, I open my eyes a sliver to view where he is pulling me. There's a pallet made from blankets on the floor, and the fire crackles merrily an adequate distance away, close enough to provide warmth, but not quite so close as to cause us to perspire—unless we begin to engage in other activities besides cuddling.

"_Petit_, what is this?" I ask, fully opening my eyes and pulling my hand from his.

"It's… an apology." He grabs my hand again, gripping tighter, and pulling me into the circle of candles ringing the pallet.

"An apology?" I raise a brow at him and make to pull my hand back again, but his grip is unrelenting, so I allow him to keep it for the moment.

"Yeah. For that night… It's…" he bites his lip, but becomes determined to get his thoughts out in the same moment. "It's an apology for that night that I was a dick to you. I know you've been pissed at me, and I know I deserve it, but it's fucking _cold_without you, and I really want you back."

I laugh softly at his rushed words, and finally succeed in pulling my hand back. He looks as if I have just rejected him with the motion, and I quickly tilt his chin up to look at me. "Your grip was hurting me." I tell him before leaning in to kiss his pouting lips.

"Sorry…" he whispers, and it's the quietest I've ever heard him speak. "I'm sorry…" His hands rest on my hips, and I let him pull me closer.

"Hm… your words _did_ hurt me for a time. I just assumed that you wanted a little space." I tell him, feeling one of his hands slip up to loosen my tie. "I know that my presence can sometimes be overwhelming…" At this, he rolls his eyes and stops me when I attempt to untuck his shirt. Apparently his plans to apologize stretch farther than just fucking before the fire in the candle-lit glow.

As he strips me—being careful with my jacket, vest and tie, just as I've taught him—I drink in the atmosphere he has created.

It is cozy with a romantic ambiance that warms me from the inside, just knowing that he did it all for me. The golden-brown candles are not uniform shapes and sizes, but they are still aesthetically pleasing all the same. Sean carefully folds my dress shirt with the rest of my clothes, and wraps his arms around me again.

"Alright, sit down and I'll be right back." He mutters against my chest before pulling away and hopping over the couch on his way out.

I do as I'm told, unbuckling my belt and tossing it upon the couch cushions and toeing off my shoes. I lie back on the blankets, enjoying the warmth of the fire, and the unobtrusive scents of the candles, and the ability to lie here, knowing that Sean will be coming back soon with yet another surprise. Surely by the end of the night, I will be spoiled beyond repair.

When Sean returns, he has a bottle of wine and two glasses. Not wine glasses, just regular ones.

"Wine?" I ask, sitting up and crossing my legs.

"Yeah, it's uh… homemade stuff." He sits down and pulls a cork screw from his pocket.

"Hm… Demoman?" I ask, knowing that he and Engineer had a go at making their own last year. This must be the fruits of their efforts.

"Yeah, they said it wasn't bad." He uncorks the bottle and sniffs the cork—something I taught him. "It ain't as sweet as I like it, but you'll probably enjoy it." He tells me, handing me the cork and picking up one of the glasses.

"Hmm…" I smell the offered cork and nod slowly. It is still fresh, it would probably be better if it were aged properly, but homemade wine is not made to be left on the shelf. "It smells fine." I agree, plaving the cork to the side and watching him pour.

When he hands me a glass, I settle back and take a sip. It's obvious that it was made by amateurs, but it doesn't have a bad flavor. The body is surprisingly full, and it clings momentarily as I swirl it around my glass.

"Not bad." He says, setting his own glass down and shedding his own shoes to get more comfortable.

"Indeed," I agree, glancing over at him as he picks his glass back up. "Was there something bothering you, that night?" I ask, reaching a hand over to rest on his knee. "If it is something I did, please tell me."

"Nah… nah, it wasn't you, Spy. I was just pissed off that I was freezing my ass off instead of sleeping with you." He averts his eyes and his glassless hand comes to rest over mine.

I chuckle and turn my hand over to hold his. "Well, if that's all, I'm sure we can set that right from now on, _oui_?" We hadn't slept together since his outburst. It was colder in my bed, but I didn't want to make matters worse by showing up unwanted. After all the times he has had his little tantrums, I have found the best course of action to sit back and let him fizzle out on his own. He will come back, he always does.

"Yeah." He grins and is suddenly against my side, snuggling. "Sounds good to me."

Another chuckle escapes me, and my hand leaves his to wrap my arm around his waist and pull him closer.

The fire crackles, mirroring the warmth provided by the alcohol, and the press of a warm body flush against my side. We watch it and drink, Sean adding more wood when it's needed.

"Are we going to sleep in here tonight?" I ask reluctantly, not wanting to ruin the moment, but I _am_ tired. And, though Sean keeps me feeling a decade younger, my back protests the thought of sleeping on a few blankets upon the floor.

"Nah, I just figured the fire was better than just candles in your room." He leans up to kiss me, and I can see his cheeks are slightly flushed. He has had several glasses more than I, and I chuckle softly when he presses his face to my neck, mouthing and nuzzling against the material of my mask. "Fucking hate this thing." He mutters, resting his forehead against my jaw and grumbling.

"_Oui_, I know." My hand comes up to pet his hair, attempting to console him.

"You're not allowed to wear it once you're not a Spy anymore." He grumbles, wrapping his arms around me and spilling a little trail of wine on my undershirt and the blanket.

"If you get wine on my trousers, you will not live to see that day." I promise him, and a mumble and curse later, he's dropping his glass on the hearth before wrapping himself around me again—anything to change the subject that was becoming far too frequent these days.

"Let's go to bed, man." His lips tease my ear through my mask, and he slips around to sit in my lap. _Success_.

"_Petit_, you are an adult." I tell him, resting my arms beneath his shoulders and knees, and shifting so that it's not so hard a task for me.

"Yeah, so? You're my boyfriend, I deserve to be carried for putting up with your faggy ass." He grins at me, and I roll my eyes and let him slip slightly.

"Augh! Fuck, no, don't drop me." He clings to me, and I adjust my grip so that I have him securely again.

"Who's a 'fag,' petit?" I ask, my feet and torso cold as we return to my room.

"You are. And I'm kind of one, but not as bad as you." Clinging, again. Always clinging.

"Oh, of course… I'm the worse one of all." We finally reach my room, and I adjust him so that I can open the door while simultaneously holding him up. "You could not have gotten that?" I ask, tossing him on my bed and beginning to change my pants. Something warmer, and perhaps a sweater to sleep in.

Sean yawns and merely crawls under the covers in his clothes. I watch him move and twist for a while before hearing his belt hit the floor on the other side of the bed.

When I slip in next to him, he turns over and latches on again, wrapping his long legs around mine, and trapping my torso against his.

There was a time when I would never have allowed a lover to do this, to so completely pinion me in place.

Sean has changed me in many ways, and I hope that he will continue to change me. Perhaps there will be a day when the thought of being unable to hide behind being Spy will no longer scare me.

:::::

day 10 – snowed in

"_What do you mean_, '_snowed in_'?" I've never seen Spy so pissed. He's like a snarling whirlwind right now, going off on Engie and Heavy like they caused it, or they could fix it.

"Spy…" he's speaking in all French now, ranting on and on about… something or other. Probably their moms being prostitutes on the scuzzy side of Paris or something. Everyone has an eye on him and another on me, because they think I'm the only one who can talk to him like this. Why me? Just because we hang out a lot? They'd probably have me between them and Spy if they knew we were fucking. His knife slices into Engie's forearm, and Pyro's finger jabs me forward. I look back at him, glaring into the empty lenses.

It muffles at me, and I whine before turning back forward and taking another step forward.

"Spy… Spy! … _Spy, _CHILL THE FUCK OUT!" I grab his shoulder—the one connected to the arm wielding the knife and he swings the other one around to punch me. It seems to kind of wake him up, because his eyes widen when I spit blood in his face.

"Sea—" I punch him back before he can finish saying my name. If he's that fucking out of it, then I want him _out_. It's an upper cut with enough force to make him stumble back a few steps. It makes him finally stop flailing around enough for Heavy to grab his arms and lock them behind him. His knife hits the concrete, and he's staring at me, stunned. He's probably a little surprised that I hit him back too. Now that he's standing still, I can see something else under the anger and fucking _crazy_ that had been there before.

Spy's _afraid_.

He tries to speak again, but I clamp my hand over his mouth.

"We're gonna be okay—it's just a lot of fucking snow. The heater's working and we got plenty of wood for the fire. You just shut the fuck up, and let Heavy drag you to your room, alright?" I can feel my voice shaking, because the adrenaline from punching something is still there. Combine that with drinking a Bonk! earlier, and I just really want to go fuck something up—or run around the base or play leapfrog with Heavy or _something_. I look up at Heavy and nod my head toward the bedrooms. He grunts and starts lumbering off with Spy slack in his hands, probably feeling like a dick for making a scene over something so stupid.

"I will give you both something for the anxiety." Medic tells me, and when I look at him, he points to my hand and I see it shaking.

"Nah, I just need some downers. Drank a Bonk!… kind of… really just want to do a lot of shit at once but I can't because we're snowed in and—"

"I will give you something for your energy." Medic rolls his eyes and turns to walk off.

"Guess we get some free time, then. Eh, mates?" Sniper stretches and turns to leave, and eventually the only people left are me, Pyro and Engie.

"I still don't know what all the fuss was about." Engie says, watching me fidget and start biting at my nails as I stare at the door and the darkened windows covered in snow.

"Mm…" I mumble around a cuticle before nodding toward the infirmary. He follows me when I start walking—though I think it's kind of hard for him to keep up with his short-ass legs. "He's weird. I think he's claustrophobic or something. He doesn't mind shutting himself in his room, but not having a way out probably freaks the shit out of him." I knew how he felt. When we'd had a blizzard back home, and couldn't get out the front door, I'd freaked the fuck out too. I was a kid, then, though…

Spy's a Spy. They're trained to always have a way out, that's probably why he's so freaked.

"Doc, c'mon, give me something before I end up with knuckles." I whine, hopping up on a sickbed and twiddling my thumbs. One of my cuticles is already bleeding a little, and I know that if I let myself chew anymore it'll become a stupid habit again.

"Ach, shut up, I'm looking for it. I haven't had to use the serum in a very long time!" He's shoulder deep in one of his cabinets, looking through bottles and vials of shit. "You're usually very good about having an exhaust for your energy."

"Yeah, well, my exhaust is kind of being restrained right now." I bite my tongue as soon as I say it, and feel eyes on me. Fuck. "Have you _seen_ Spy fight before?" I ask, hoping I can make a quick save. "Sparring with him is like running a marathon in place! He's fast as shit for an old guy."

I feel like they bought it, because when I glance at Engie, he's studying something else while holding a handkerchief to his arm where Spy'd cut him.

Medic clears his throat to get my attention, and I hold out my hand for the pills, but he jabs a needle into my forearm and I kick his shin.

"FUCK, you wanna try warning me about that next time, faggot?!" I clench my fist and resist punching the asshole because I already kicked him, and he looks like he's about to sick Heavy on me for _that._

"If I had warned you, you would have just run around my infirmary until I got tired of chasing you." He grates out between his teeth. He tosses me a bottle of pills and turns away, hobbling back to his desk. "Give Spy one of those every four hours… do not mix with alcohol, cigarettes are fine, though." He leans over and puts his weight on his desk.

"Yeah… okay. Sorry, hope I didn't break anything—Engie still needs ya." When he shoots me a glare that _clearly_ says for me to get the fuck out, I do.

I stop racing for Spy's room about halfway there, and by the time I reach the door, I'm walking.

"Hey." I peek my head in and see Heavy blocking the door and Spy sitting on his bed with his knees against his chest and the blood I spat at him earlier still staining his mask. He glances at me, then Heavy and then back at his shoes. "It's okay, big guy. I got it from here." I pat Heavy's shoulder as I walk past him and rest my hands on my hips, looking at him pointedly until he leaves.

"Sean…" Spy croaks as soon as Heavy leaves.

"Yeah, Spy?" I unscrew the top of the bottle as I turn toward him. He's slowly uncurling, and I reach up to push the pill into his mouth when he tries to speak. "Swallow that. You're taking one every four hours."

He kind of goes quiet after that, and watches me kick my pants across the room so that I can pull on the sweatpants I leave in his room for sleeping purposes. I'm kind of cold, so I steal one of his sweaters and move to sit with him on the bed. "Move over, asshole."

"Sean, I'm sorry." He reaches over and his thumb grazes my swollen lip.

"Yeah, it's fine." I bump his ass with my hip and he finally gives me more room. Once we're kind of settled, I reach up and pull off his mask.

He looks sheepish—it's a weird expression for him, and I frown at it.

"Stop that." I lean in and start undoing his tie. "Go change." I push at him, trying to get him to stand up.

"Change into what?"

"I dunno, something you can sleep in. Medic's medicine is making me tired, and we've already missed lunch because of the whole trying-to-get-out-of-the-base thing." I remind him, yawning. "The cold makes you tired anyway, c'mon. I know it'll make you feel better about all this."

He stands there and stares at me for a few minutes, just watching me stretch out and snuggle under his blankets. Without a word, he turns and starts doing as he was told, changing into warm lounge clothes and pulling on some warmer socks before crawling into the bed with me. I mold myself to him, bowing my back against his chest and pulling his arms around me.

"There, now fucking go to sleep."

"_Oui_…" is all he replies.

His arms tighten around me, and his fingers gently brush against my stomach through the t-shirt and sweater.

He doesn't need to tell me he's going to be okay now, I can feel his breath evening out against my neck, and his lips are pressing kisses to the back of my hair.

All his movement slows to a stop after a while, and I let myself relax into the warmth and the fog that that medicine is spreading over me.

Man, Doc gives out some good shit.

:::::

Day 11 – quilts

Even though we're not in the war anymore, he doesn't like to talk about things. Even though he's not a Spy now, information still seems like something that he shouldn't trust to anyone.

Not even me. So when he _does_, like telling me about how his grandmother made the quilt we're huddled under, I listen. I give him all my attention and act like this is the only place I want to be—listening to him tell me about things from his past.

Some of the carefully stitched squares and triangles are made from the good bits of his old clothes, trophies from a past childhood that it doesn't seem like he ever could have had. When I think about Spy—Thierry, now, he tells me—when I think about the man pressed to my side and lazily tickling his fingertips across my stomach and hips, all I ever see is a man, an adult. Sometimes he'll be impish and tease me, or maybe throw a joke out there, but overall, the life of a Spy hardened him.

The constant façade wore him down, and all I got left with was the polished surface. I don't get to rub up against any of the grit, to see what he was like as a scrappy teen in a strict private school, the scared young man forced to move to America because some assholes didn't like people with brown hair. I know about all this stuff because he told it to me, but I don't see it in him. He's smooth and controlled—confident, mature, fearless. That's the problem, though. All the things I love about him conflict with everything I want to see in him at the same time. Sometimes I'll catch a glimpse—if I push hard enough. Sometimes I'll see a little bit of that unpolished side when he's pissed off, or so lost in me that he can't help but let a little through.

The quilt is warm, but I still snuggle closer to the hot, naked body next to me.

"You are quite the leech tonight." He mutters, but his arms come up around me anyway as he turns his back on the crackling fire.

"Yeah." I agree, pressing my face against his skin and letting my lips and tongue darken a fading mark I'd left on him a few days ago.

"Turtlenecks again this week? I shall soon run out of things to wear…" He sighs, but his hand still strokes my hair.

"Mmm…" I nip at him gently before pulling away and tugging an unexplored part of the quilt over. "Tell me about this one." I demand, running my thumb over a patch of brown denim fabric.

"I always hated wearing those overalls." He frowns and his hand comes up to trace next to mine.

I laugh a little. "Overalls? Really? Like the kind that Engie wore?"

"Oh, much, much worse, _amor_… they were _shorts_." His hand covers mine and moves it over to a separate patch. "Here is part of the lion design on the front of the bib. It was their only redeeming quality."

"Hm… what games did you play?" I ask, twining my fingers with his and feeling his legs tangle in mine and pull me closer.

"Oh, all kinds. Hide and go seek, catch… rugby, on occasion. I was very young—perhaps six. I didn't know the rules for the older children's games very well." He pulls me closer with his arms this time, and my shoulder rubs against the wood-paneled floor of our house.

"Did you ever spend the night on the floor like this in front of the fire?" My free hand plays with his chest hair—he's got a lot of it, compared to most guys I've seen. Not like Demo or Sniper, but he's got more than Engie or even Soldier. Definitely more than I do.

"_Oui_, though the company was not as good…" He chuckles and I feel his lips against my hair.

"Couldn'ta been." I agree, grinning and finally letting my eyes drift shut as he nuzzles my hair and slowly makes his way around to kiss and whisper against my ear. It's all French, and I ain't fluent or anything yet, but it's less of what he croons to me and _how_ he does it.

That's one thing the Spy wasn't able to take away from him. He can still love me.

:::::

Day 12 – mistletoe (or plain smoochies)

There are things that he had never told Sean that he enjoyed. He thought that they were self-explanatory, really. He loved the way that the younger man would take that satisfied breath at the touch of his lips, the gentle pull of his lungs as he relaxed into the sensation of being kissed. He was always careful to do it thoroughly, and to leave no doubt about his intentions—after he was done dancing around the idea of an honest to God relationship with the boy, anyway. That was the past, though. Several years ago still.

He was sure that a gentle peck on the cheek had never caused such a reaction as this. He'd done it just as they passed beneath a bough of mistletoe affixed to the ceiling, and Thierry was certain that it would have been much more satisfying if he had given Sean a real kiss instead. At least then, the boy wouldn't have had the chance to punch him and push him away before storming back out into the snow without his jacket. Sean's family was still staring at him, seemingly surprised at the sudden display. They already knew—and he was fairly certain that they respected their quasi-leader's youngest son's decision. Who would they be to say that he wasn't worthy of the young man's affections?

Sean's mother—Ma, as he was told to call her—was the first to come back to the present. "Well, you're the one that made him leave, grab his jacket and bring him back." She gave him a grin and a wink before walking back toward the kitchen. "You want some ice for that cheek? It's gonna bruise."

"_Non_…" he replied, raising his hand to feel the swelling at his cheekbone. "I'll be out in the cold anyway, it will surely help the swelling." It was something they would have to work on—like they had public affection. He could now get Sean to hold his hand or allow his arm around his hunched shoulders in public now. Someday, he would be able to steal those little kisses that he envied Sean's brothers and their significant others for. He didn't understand how being with Sean's family was worse than being in a public setting.

As he pulled on his coat and draped Sean's over his arm, one of the little ones approached him— Bernadette.

"Mista Teary, you gotta hit Sean back!" Her little face was so serious that he almost found himself smiling. Instead, he forced an equally serious expression and knelt down to her level.

"And why is that, _cheri_? Would that make me any better than him?" _What do they teach their children in this family?_

"Noooo," she shook her head and poked his chest. "But he isn't gonna listen unless you've got his 'tention. You ain't got his attention if he's being stupid. So smack the stupid out of him."

The way she put it cracked Thierry's serious façade, and he chuckled softly, patting her shoulder. "We shall see, my dear. If push comes to shove, I shall resort to your familial methods."

"… alright." He sorely suspected that she didn't quite understand that last bit, but that he had agreed with her seemed to put her at ease. She ran back over to pounce on her older cousin, and seemed to be demonstrating how he should go about making Sean listen to him.

Turning into the cold, he left, thinking about his new family—for that is what they said that they were: _his family_. They had accepted him, and the children were warned against teasing himself or Sean about their preferences. Some of them called him Aunty Thierry, but he assured the parents that it was fine—all in good fun, of course. They visited as often as they could, and Thierry had even tendered the idea of buying them a Spring home in Boston. An anniversary gift of sorts, so that his lover could be in the country for some of baseball season, and visit his family more frequently.

He found him shivering in the dugout of the baseball diamond closest to his house. He'd shown him how to break in last time they were in town, and it is the first place Thierry decided to search for him.

"G-go the fuck aw-way." Sean ground out, curled in a back corner of the little concrete rectangle.

"Sean, look at me."

When the younger man refused, Thierry reached out and gently slapped his cheek.

"There we are." He smirked at the grey eyes turning up to look at him. "Now put this on, and let's return. You are being childish and silly. Berny told me that I should smack some sense into you, but I would prefer more gentle methods." He could feel the skin of his abused cheek swelling, and leaned down to scoop up a handful of snow. "Let's go, _cher_. I'm cold."

He stood without a word, and allowed Thierry to drape his coat across his shoulders and hug him close to help return his warmth with his free arm.

"I… why do you keep doin' this?" Sean asked, once his teeth had stopped chattering.

"Doing what? Allowing you to punch me without doing anything in return?"

"No, not that… but, yeah, that too."

"Because I know that it will be worth it someday to be able to kiss you openly in front of whomever I like." His smirk faded only slightly, and he tossed the melting snow away, hating the way it felt against his cheek. "I have told you before that your family loves us— and _you_ especially. They will not look at us differently because we kiss or touch outside of your room."

Sean didn't reply, just wrapped his arms around Thierry and allowed himself to be pulled back home. Upon their return, he had barely shed his coat before he kissed Thierry's bruised cheek and zipped over to sit with the younger kids in front of the TV, blushing all the way to his ears.

Thierry looked like the cat that had eaten the canary, and when he moved to sit in one of the open recliners packed into the spacious living room, little Bernadette came to crawl up into his lap. She stared up at him for a moment with a haughty look before sticking out her tongue at him.

"Told you so."

:::::

Day 13 – snowmen

"It's a contest." I punch Spy's arm when he shakes his head. "Come on, do it, faggot." When he turns to glare at me, I just grin back.

"Why do you think that _I_ have any skill in constructing snowmen?" He asks, removing the cigarette from his mouth and letting out a breath of smoke a few seconds later.

"Uh, 'cause when we went to the beach, you made that badass sandcastle?" I remind him, and he smirks a bit, probably remembering how much I'd freaked out about it. It was so fucking cool, with little towers and arched doorways and hints of bricks in places on the walls.

"That is _sand_." He tells me, bending down to take a handful of snow and glaring at it before tossing it back down and slinging his hand to get the last bits off. "This is _snow_."

"Yeah, but it's a chance to meet _Yastrzemski_. He had the _best _fucking season last year. I mean, _best_." Yeah, I'm kind of gushing, but _goddamn_, I want my 1961 rookie card signed so fucking bad. It's not that I don't think my snowman could win (I make an_awesome_ fucking snowman), but I know that Spy's got the artsy stuff in the bag, and if I make a serious snowman, then I can't use a carrot for a dick, and that's kind of a tradition for me and my brothers.

When Spy sighs, I know I've won.

I give him a big hug, right in front of the whole crowd gathered for the contest. When I let go, he mutters something about "children" and then some French stuff which I'm pretty sure is him cussing out the snow's mom. He glances at one of the big ass posters marking where the contest will be, and says, "go get your cap, bat and that jersey you've been sleeping in lately from home."

"Yeah, okay." I want to argue about him talking about my jersey in public, but I don't because that's just more time for him to change his mind. "Sign me up while you're over there—I'll be back before you get up to the table." I tell him before sprinting off back to the house. This year, Ma insisted that Spy stay in the house with the rest of the family, kind of a peace offering for what happened last year, I think. It kind of sucks because we're in a room full of kids, so we can't sleep, y'know, together. Spy doesn't seem to mind, though, which is really cool of him.

I pass all seven of my bros on my way back, but I only stop long enough to punch Brady in the face for asking, "where's your fag?" before running off again. I gotta get back in time, because there's a cut off for when you can get props. They don't tell you the theme or prize until half an hour before he fucking contest starts—which had never really been a problem before, because they didn't have _good_ prizes. Like they usually have gift certificates or meet the mayor or lunch with some obscure Hollywood star.

They've never had _Yaz_ before.

I don't stop to talk to Ma, just kind of, "hey, love you, gotta go," grab my shit and kiss her cheek before hurdling some toddlers (seriously, as soon as the kids in this family grow up, more take their place!) and rushing back toward the event plaza. I get back in time (duh), and see Spy making conversation with my bros, which isn't weird, but it always makes me antsy, because my bros know lots of stories about me, and then they also make up more that are _totally not even close to being true_, because they're a bunch of dicks.

"Hey, man." I hit Brady in the back of the head again for good measure on my way past him to stand with Spy. "Not telling any lies about me, are they?" I ask, handing Spy the bag I'm carrying and shooting Jerry and Terry a glare. They're the ones I usually have to watch out for when it comes to being complete dicks. I dunno if it's a twin thing, or what.

"Ah, only one so far." Spy chuckles, and gives Jeff a wink.

"Can't blame me for trying, man." Jeff chuckles and offers his fist to bump with Spy's. "It was believable, though, wasn't it?"

"Oh, very." Spy agrees, and I suddenly wonder just what the fuck those two had been talking about while I was hauling ass back over here.

"You're telling me what it was after the contest." I tell him, handing him my duffle with my cap, jersey and bat.

"_Oui, oui_, of course I am." He smirks at my brothers, and they all grin back before walking off to sign up.

I hit him as soon as they walk off. "Why the fuck are you so pally with my bros all of a sudden?"

"Hmm…" he's still smirking and he reaches up to rub his arm while shrugging at the same time. "We are family, _oui_?"

I know that's not all there is, but I let it go. I think my bros were second in line for not liking the idea of me fucking a guy that's old enough to be my dad, but they'd kind of gotten used to the idea since he's really good at passing himself off as a not-fag and is weirdly good with kids.

Like, scary good. Super fucking weird, since he claims he hates "brats."

"_Snowmanufacturers_," the announcer uses the same dumb pun pretty much every year, but he still chuckles right after saying it, "_pick a pile and get ready_!"

Spy rushes over to a spot where the piles on either side of him are taken, and I feel kind of down. I kind of like watching him do his thing, but if he wants to be an ass and not build his snowman next to mine, then _fine_. Whatever.

I pick a spot and get ready to start packing and shaping and shit.

"_As a friendly note to the familiar faces here—O'Conner boys—_" he doesn't even cough to make it seem like he's not singling me and my brothers out, "_this is a family friendly venue, and crude additions to your snowmen will not be tolerated, and you _**will**_ be disqualified at the first sign of… arbitration._"

"Ooooh, big word!" Jerry calls, and Terry gives a sarcastic shushing at him, even though if Jerry hadn't said something, then Terry would have.

The announcer ignores them and clears his throat. "_Everybody ready_? _Alright, aaaand, build_!"

I try to glance over at Spy a few times, but I can't really see around the people, and he's working really low to the ground, so I give up pretty soon.

I take my time building mine, it's gotta have structure and I gotta make sure that the bottom ball is solid enough to hold the top ones. It's a lot easier when I don't have to factor in whether it's going to get kicked down or not.

Sometimes we'd build snowmen and the winner was the one whose snowman stayed up for the longest kicks.

They give you a lot of time, about an hour, to finish it, because there are some hardcore people—like that one lady that puts insane detail into hers and wins a least third place every year. I guess I kind of forced Spy into that category this year. Oh well, if it gets me an autograph from Yaz, it's worth it for everyone to think that the old guy that hangs around my family each Christmas is lame.

It doesn't take me too long to finish, and that's when Terry and Jerry decide to add nipples to each other's snowmen—well, women. I think they were in the middle of putting stick arms up for their snowwomen to hug too, when it was caught by the judges. Pretty soon after they got disqualified, the naughty bits were batted off, and they were told to go home. They stick around to talk to Jeff for a bit before the policeman that's there for security stuff (probably more for my family than anything else) starts walking towards them. They run off quickly once they see him.

I watch the judges, acting like I'm still patting my snowman as they make their rounds. They stop at Spy's pile for a while and I can hear him talking to them, but they're too far away for me to hear what he's saying. They laugh, and I swear one of them glances back at me before they start walking again.

Fucking whatever, I don't care.

…

What the fucking hell is he _making_?

Time starts to pass really slowly after that, and I decide not to put my carrot penis on this year—I don't want to get kicked out before I get to see what the hell Spy is doing.

It takes forever, but the ending bell finally rings. So far I've added a moustache and beard to my Snowman, and was in the middle of making a snow dog with a stick for a leash when time's up.

"_You may now move about while the judges make their final decisions_."

I go straight to Spy—and I just kind of stare at the… _thing_ he made. It's not even a snowman. It's like a fucking snow sculpture—I think about breaking it before anyone else can see, but his hands settle on my arms and he locks them behind me.

"If I'm not getting laid while we're here anyway, I can at least have fun in the meantime." He whispers into my ear.

There's a semi-likeness of me made out of snow, fucking snuggling my bat on a snowbed and wearing my Yastrzemski jersey. Fucking asleep. Fucking fuck fuck.

"I fucking hate you." I hiss, fighting his grip.

"The judges have already guaranteed my victory. I thought that this is what you wanted?" he asks it in that sweet-as-a-snake tone, and I kick his shin, making him let go. My face is burning, which makes the cold air even colder.

"Fuck you." I snarl, and cross my arms, trying to bite back my humiliation.

"Hm…" he chuckles softly, and nods his head toward the judges, who are nodding and glancing over at him.

Oh well, at least Yaz won't see it, right?

I wonder when I'm going to get to meet him, as a photographer for the paper scuttles around taking pictures of all the snowmen. Then a car pulls up, and I haul off and punch Spy, because fucking _fuck_ it's Yaz that gets out.

:::::

Thierry abuse, anyone?

:::::

Day 14 – hot baths

It's a rare thing that I am able to relax in a bathtub. Steam rises from the water, and it's hot enough to redden my skin, but it isn't painful. No, it feels perfect.

I feel Sean's eyes on me, and roll my head to the side to stare back, completely relaxed for the first time in… well, who really knows how long?

"What is it, _petit_?" I ask, watching one of his hands play with the hem of his shirt. Nervousness, it hasn't made an appearance in quite some time. Not since the debacle with his family last Christmas, anyway—that was just a _treat_. I smirk a little at the thought and raise my hand to wave him over.

"Can I just watch ya?" He asks, and I am tempted to sit up and beckon him closer, I merely sink farther in the water and relax my head back once again, though.

"Of course, Sean. Whatever you like." I leave the, 'as long as you do not ask to join me, because I _did_ come in here to get a little time to myself,' unsaid.

He hops up on the counter across from me, and I allow my head to relax back once again.

Silence pervades the bathroom, and I'm surprised that Sean keeps it up for as long as he does.

"I like seeing you like this—relaxed and all." He has a light blush across his cheeks, as usual. He doesn't particularly enjoy sharing feelings with me. I think it damages a little of his pride, when he does.

"Oh?" I ask, barely moving my lips and keeping my eyes half-lidded.

"Yeah. I like it, 'n'… I think it would happen more if you retired."

"Oh? I ask again, more than willing for him to carry his own conversation.

He's nodding, gaining confidence. "Yeah, so… I'm up for renewal soon. How many years you got left?"

At this, I raise my head and blink at him, drawn out of my relaxation by the core of the matter hitting me.

"You want to retire together?" I ask, sitting up and watching him hop off the table, pace a bit, and then take two long strides to kneel next to the tub.

"Yeah."

"At the age of twenty, you want to _retire_?"

"I'll be like twenty three or something, but yeah." He grins at me, and rests one of his hands on my arm, lightly. "I mean, I'm still gonna _work_, just… I'll be able to come home to you every night, and I won't be fucking killing people for a living… we could get a place in Franch, or Boston, or New York or fucking, I don't know, Timbuktu!" He snorts and his hand slips down my arm to twist his fingers with mine. "I just don't want to have to wait _months_ for you to be able to do this… relax." Concern is darkening his brow now, and I chuckle softly.

"You are worried that I am too stressed, _petit_?"

"Stop trying to change the fucking subject." His brows draw together, and I hesitate before sighing and shaking my head.

"Sean, I don't…"

"You don't _what_?" His tone is accusing, and I sigh, sinking beneath my bathwater and wondering why every subject always turns into an argument.

His hand tugs on mine, and I'm made surprised by the fact that he hasn't pulled away.

"Spy, fucking tell me. You don't _what_? You don't want to live with me? You don't see how it would work? You don't know what you're planning on doing after you finally get out of the hellhole of a war-game we're in?" He stares at me hard, and his hand grips mine. "Do you ever plan on leaving?"

"I…" I don't know how to answer, I've never thought about it. Never _really_ thought about it. Respawn is a miracle of an invention. The next update is said to even decrease the effects of aging—perhaps eliminate them, trap the mercenary at their entering age so that they are not wasting their years playing HQs games, merely biding their time and accruing money to spend in the world. It is entirely possible that a man might live forever with such technology. "I hadn't, no." I admit, watching my fingers slowly curl around to cling back to his. "Come, strip yourself and join me. I will not speak of this while you are kneeling on the hard tile." I finally tell him and he reluctantly releases his death-grip of a hold on my hand.

It takes him mere moments before his comparatively cooler body settles between my legs, and I allow my hands to hold his.

This is better, now he can't _look_ at me with those eyes of his.

"I hadn't thought of it, Sean. I didn't realize that it was going to come up, which is a bit of an oversight on my part." I admit it with a soft chuckle and sigh. "I don't know what I want… but as long as you're willing to be patient with me while I figure it out… well, then I think it will make it infinitely easier for me to decide."

He twists in the tub and looks up at me with pursed lips. He finally decides something, and leans up to kiss my lips before settling back against my chest again. "Alright, until you decide, I'll just do one-year contracts."

"One—petit, that's…" I don't want him to do that. Even a two year contract is so much more profitable than one. A one year contract isn't enough money to keep me here. For the amount of a one year contract, I could easily turn more money up freelance spying, but with considerably less stress and a lot less dying. For a Scout, the pay is even less.

"Sean, no." I tell him, shaking my head. I'm almost down to four years left—I renewed recently, just last year before Christmas. A few months and it will be four. "I will soon have only four left. Take a five year turn, and I…" The plans fall from my mouth before I can stop them, and I stiffen at the realization of what I just said. Stopping mid-sentence has never made me feel very couth, but here, it's entirely necessary. He's staring at me, hanging on every word, and I swallow hard. "I will wait the months for you…" I finish, and that strange tightness that I feel whenever I lie to him is nowhere. I don't feel it—there's no guilt or shame, just a little warm flicker.

We will have a future.

"Take the five years, and we can decide what to do then."

:::::

Day 15 – winter hats and mittens

"Little Scout will give it back, _now_."

"No I won't, it's mine—I won it in a bet like _months_ ago. Just because I was drunk doesn't mean I _forgot_." Sean sneers at Heavy, and Thierry sighs heavily as the boy hides behind him on the couch.

"Scout, give it back." He instructs before turning a page in his paper. Sean had convinced him to stay in the common room, enjoy the atmosphere of their little Christmas get together. So far, he wasn't.

"What?! But, Spy, you were _there_ when I won it!" He looks at Thierry as if he has just betrayed the very foundation of his trust.

"_Oui_, and I gave it back to Heavy in return for me not beating you to death for betting on my social habits." Thierry plucks the hat off of Sean's head and tosses it back to Heavy. "Besides, you only want it to match the mittens you got for Christmas from your 'Secret Santa.' " He rolls his eyes and snorts at the tradition. Horribly stupid, in his opinion.

"Well, yeah." Sean pouts and relaxes back on the couch with his legs on the Spy's lap. For show, the older man attempts to push them off. When they return, however, heleaves them and returns to his paper.

"Be patient, perhaps one of your brothers will get you something to match it,_ oui_?" Thierry gave Sean a sly glance, but the boy didn't pick up on it at all.

"Why would those cheap bastards get me something like that?" Sean asks, and Thierry gives up a little on pacifying the boy.

"I don't know, I thought it was what families did—or something." He adds, huffing and standing before exiting the common room.

Legs cast aside roughly, Sean glares at Thierry and follows him down the hall, complaining and carrying on about how he should be nicer to someone who cared enough to make him bond with the team in the first place.

As soon as they reach Thierry's room, he leaves the door open for the younger man and begins searching in his closet.

"Hey, yo, you wanna tell me why you're being such an ass tonight? You promised you'd stick around." Sean seethes from the doorway, watching the Spy with a firm frown.

Thierry laughs and rolls his eyes as he finally finds the box he was looking for and pulls it down.

"I had to get you to stop flirting with death somehow." He replies and brings the box around. It is neatly wrapped in silver paper, but is otherwise bowless and without even a tag. "Go ahead and open this, but you can't wear it until we reach Boston, _oui_?"

Sean hesitantly takes the box and weighs it in his hands, shakes it, seems to be taking mental measurements of it to see what could be inside.

"_Mon dieu_, Sean, just _open it_." Thierry sighs and crosses to close the door.

The Scout does as he's told, but he's careful about it, not at all the ravenous ripping and tearing that had gone on earlier in the night when they had unwrapped Secret Santa gifts.

Thierry wonders if it's because he knows that this gift is from him, and finds it strangely endearing.

He sits at his desk and lights a cigarette, waiting for Sean to finally get the last bit of tape loose before he would be able to open the box.

He set the wrapping paper aside, and opened the box, giving a little noise that Thierry wasn't _entirely sure_ what to call it, really. It did sound quite happy, though.

Sean quickly yanked the blank Ushanka over his head and held up the gloves that he had unwrapped earlier in the night. Black rabbit's fur, and gold pins of wings ornamenting the wrists and forehead.

"You're my fucking Secret Santa." He accused, and Thierry smirked at him.

"Who else on this team would buy you such an extravagant gift that they knew you would like?" The Spy asked, patting his lap with a chuckle.

Sean fairly bounced into the invitation and kissed Thierry, a quick peck at first, but then a long, lingering one that had the Spy stubbing out his cigarette. He could finish it later, he had a "thank you" to claim.


	2. Chapter 2

day 16 – shaking from the cold

I always hate waking up like this. Not the waking up in Spy's arms part. There's never anything wrong about waking up like that, even if it's in the middle of the damn night. I just hate waking up and feeling him shaking, wrapped around me and cold because the stupid twin-size covers for the stupid twin-size bed fell off. About two nights into being at the base, I drug my own covers in, because I wasn't using them anyway. I thought it would help, but sometimes they still slip off, and Spy's warm-blooded nature kicks in. He gets cold, starts to shake, and I pop awake.

I slip away, hoping not to wake him up while I retrieve everything, tuck corners and edges around his back before folding myself into him again and rolling onto my own edge. It stops eventually, once I've rubbed him with my hands, tried to regenerate some of the heat that had been lost, wrapped his arms back around me and said soft shit I'd never let anyone hear me say, ever. I don't even like saying that kind of stuff when he's conscious, because guys just _don't_.

For him, though… well, I've made a lot of changes in the way I do things. But not when he's awake. Fucking _never_ when he's awake.

He doesn't always stay asleep, but the cold already fucks with him enough that he's not that hard to entice back under. Sometimes I worry about him. I want to leave this base, I want us to be anywhere else, 2fort, Dustbowl, Sawmill wasn't even this bad—there, they just had all that fucking rain and shit. I'd go back to the stupid desert for him, if it made him happy, or even just feel a little better.

I like the cold and all, but I hate seeing him like this.

The shaking isn't all bad. It reminds me of that first night he said that he loved me. I'd been too hyped up to actually sleep for a few hours, but I wasn't going to ruin a good thing. At first, I'd been confused and a little angry. What was the big deal? If he _did_love me, then why was he shaking like an addict looking for their next hit? The fact that he was still holding on, though… it told me everything I needed to know. Maybe stuff I already _did_ know, but I didn't want to admit to myself.

We have our fights. We bitch at and spit on and punch and slap each other, but we've got the important bits down.

Kisses and touches can make up for any bruises or harsh words as long as we keep holding on to why we're together in the first place.

Because I'm an awesome fuck, and Spy? Well… we're getting there.

:::::

day 17 – snow shoveling

I'm not sure if Ma was attempting to be coy or trying to get a disapproving message across to me, but when Sean approaches me with the idea, I can't say no. It would just be bad form.

"So, uh… you really don't mind it?" Sean asks, tossing a shovel full of snow to the side.

"Of course not, Sean." I reply, putting my back into getting the shovel's edge down against the concrete, and shoving 'til it clears the edge. "I have no problems with religion itself. In fact, I have never been harassed over my choice in sexuality—mainly because I do not display it openly too often, and chose only trustworthy partners with which to spend my time."

"Oh. Okay." Sean clears a few more shovels before turning to me again. "So you're going to come back with me for the candle light service tonight?" He asks hesitantly.

"If you would like for me to." I nod, still focused on removing the snow from the sidewalk and steps of the Catholic church Sean's mother attends. I suppose that when Sean lived in Boston, he did as well, but it is hard for me to imagine my little killing machine going to church and reciting Latin and singing hymns.

"I do… you're really not going to mind?"

I pause and turn to face him with a small smile. "Not at all, _petit_. Just because I deviate from your God's plans does not mean that I particularly loathe him." I chuckle and lean on my shovel. "And if it is important to you, then who am I to say no?"

A slow smile parts his lips, and he grins at me. "Remind me that I owe you something when we get back to the hotel."

"You think I would let you forget making me shoveling snow?" I ask, snorting and returning to my task. "Manual labor in a cold climate, my two least favorite things."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch, that's all you ever do…"

I don't particularly enjoy breaking down into insulting banter outside a church. While I do not attend regularly, I do have a little healthy God-fear in me. However, I suppose that if He doesn't like it, He can smite us.

I trust he will wait until we have finished shoveling his walk first, though.

:::::

day 18 - hibernate/sleep

He's warm, and a little soft.

Bony on the edges, and with a lean build that doesn't make the softness look possible. I know that softness didn't used to exist.

When he was my age, he was probably skinnier than me, stringy and tall.

I wonder how that suit didn't make him look ridiculous back then. I guess he found a good tailor or something.

He sleeps more now, than when we first started sharing a bed. I think it's because he's comfortable with me, maybe even trusts me—if only a little bit. He's got long limbs that tangle with mine, and at least one of his hands usually ends up in my hair.

He's not always there when I wake up, but I can usually still feel his warmth on the mattress next to me. We've tried sleeping in different positions, spooning or apart, on our own cramped sides of the bed. I give each one about ten minutes before crawling over to fit myself back into his arms, wrap my legs in his and call it a night. When we were stationed in the desert, and it was hotter than usual, I would sleep in my own room. Summers were the fucking worst out there. Occasionally, though, Engie would bang on the AC, and it would cool everything down enough that we could stand each other's warmth again.

My favorite places to be stationed at were Coldfront and Sawmill. 'Cause the weather was never hot, and rain turns Spy into more of a romantic. Coldfront, though… it was just good for all the extra snuggling and holding that we did, and the hot chocolate. Man the hot chocolate was good. Almost didn't want to leave, but it was what was best for Spy. And now, lying in _our_ bed with a summer breeze rustling through _our_ house, our windows open and the moon peeking through the clouds… hell if I want to be anywhere else.

"Sean, I know you are not asleep." His voice is raspy just out of sleep, and I smile as I turn back over and nestle into his arms. One leg wraps around my hip, and his other hooks through to curl around the back of my knee, pulling me closer, and trapping my hips against his. The motion used to make me want to fuck, but we're kind of beyond that, now.

I mean, we still do it, but it's nice to just be close like this.

"Go back to sleep, asshole." I mutter, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my cheek on the pillow, lips lightly touching his.

"Hmm…" he starts speaking French, and even though I don't understand all of it, I feel my face heat and kiss him again.

"I can tell when you're saying dumb bullshit." I tell him, clamping my eyes shut and feeling his chuckle against my chest as his lips press against my cheeks and forehead.

"Perhaps someday you will be able to tell what I am saying."

"Mn… doubtful." I grumble, nestling closer. He keeps talking a little while longer, but it's all still French and just ends up putting me to sleep.

:::::

day 19 - cookies/cake/gingerbread

"Ma, Ma, why are you letting him in the kitchen—?" My boy, he's just so antsy when it comes to be being around Mr. Spy. I don't blame him, really, I _did_ make a few moves on him when we first met, but that's water under the bridge, ain't it? It's gotta be.

"Because, Sean, he offered to help me make cookies." I tell him, though I'm not actually doing anything myself. Rather, I'm parked at the table sipping some coffee and observing. I don't mind letting a man in my kitchen occasionally, but I'll be damned if I'm going to leave him there alone.

"And… your _apron_?" He's just being a big whining baby lately. Jesus Christ the Lord and his Mother Mary, this boy is a twenty-one year old baby.

"He didn't want to get flour on his clothes, dear." I can tell it's bugging him real bad, and I lean forward, just to tease him a little bit. "I think it looks better on him."

His face goes through a series of expressions, and his teeth bite his bottom lip. Oh, he wants to curse and rant and rave and throw a tantrum. I stand and walk around to give him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm gonna excuse myself for a moment, boys. Play nice, now." I chuckle and leave the kitchen, pass through the dining room and into the hall.

It's not that I approve of this at all, I think it's… well, it's just not right. Sean bringing that man into my house and knowing what they probably do across the country. Sharing a bed, no doubt. At least Sean is staying here, in my house, while Spy is put up in a hotel several blocks away.

I don't hate Spy, I could never hate a man as kind and—from seeing him with Sean—loving as him. I can't bring myself to approve of… _them_, though. I love my boy, and I want him to be happy, but…

I wash my hands in the bathroom and fix my hair and makeup.

When I peek back into the kitchen, Sean is leaning on the counter and pointing at ingredients, asking his what and whys. Spy responds gamely, seemingly not annoyed by the constant badgering that everyone else in the family is used to. They're speaking in low tones, and I think Sean makes a dirty joke. Spy turns his head to look down at him with a half-smile on his face before dabbing a bit of cookie batter on Sean's nose and telling him to, "go away if you cannot behave, _petit_."

I wait a moment more before stepping in and returning to my coffee.

"Welcome back, ma belle." Spy says as I walk in.

I smile at him as I sit down. "Thanks, Spy. Sean, grab a soda and sit down. We need to talk about the taxes on this place."

"Aw, Ma… just give me a number and I'll write a check or something…" he grumbles, but ultimately does as I say.

Spy chuckles as he works, and I reach over to wipe the cookie dough off of Sean's nose. "Hmmm… a little more vanilla." I tell Spy, licking it off of my finger.

"_Oui, mademoiselle, _right away."

He's not bad at all.

I just wish he weren't dating my youngest son.

:::::

day 20 – scarves

"Please tell me that you didn't make this." Sean groans as he picks up the wool scarf and fingers the stitches carefully.

"Why?" Thierry rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Would that make me more of a fag in your eyes?"

"Well, yeah. I mean… _seriously_, _knitting_? You'd remind me of my mom, and I just can't fuck under those circumstances." He replies, finally draping it around his neck and tossing an end over his shoulder. "Mmm… it's really warm, and soft." His hand comes up to rub the plush threads against his cheek, and Thierry sighs.

"Yes, well, only the best for you, _mon petit_." He chuckles when Sean suddenly hugs him, a proper thank you muffled into his shoulder. "You are welcome."

Sean only allows a kiss to his hair before he shoves the Spy away again. "Here." He pulls a bag from the inside of his jacket and shoves it into Spy's hands. "Merry Christmas."

"Oh? Something for me?" Thierry chuckles and swoops in for a peck on Sean's cheek, but only gets a slap in the face, and his lover dancing back away from him on nimble feet.

"Nope, no faggy shit. Just open it and… and… _whatever_. It's not like it's a good gift or anything."

"Oh, I'm sure I will still like it." Thierry chuckles and opens the bag. He snorts and fishes out a new tub of petroleum jelly, and looks at Sean incredulously.

"What? We used up _yours_, and that's not _all _that's in there. I just left it in the bag… so… y'know, you'd know we got some more. Sheesh."

"How very…" Thierry shakes his head and chuckles before digging back into the bag and pulling out a Beret. "Thoughtful." A smile passes over his face before he can hide it, and a chuckle forces itself out.

"Yeah, I… uh… I thought of you." Sean rubs the back of his neck, not really sure if Thierry likes his gift or not.

"Thank you, _petit_." Thierry bends down to give Sean a chaste kiss, and, for once, the younger man doesn't fight him for it.

"Yeah, whatever. Matches your suit too. I thought about that kind of stuff." Sean plays with the end of his scarf and blushes all the way to his ears. He hadn't known what to get Spy for Christmas. That the other man had liked it was just… well, it was _really, really_ nice.

"I see." Thierry puts the Beret on and puts the tub back in the bag, and then the bag in his jacket before offering Sean his arm. "Come, let's enjoy the rest of our evening. That scarf looks good on you."

"I… uh… yeah, let's… yeah. Okay."

:::::

day 21 – soup

"Spy, you should eat."

He doesn't answer, just kind of grunts at me and keeps smoking and staring out the window at the snow.

"Spy. Eat your fucking sandwich." I sound pissed this time, because I'm starting to run out of patience with this asshat.

"I do not want it." He finally says, and waves his hand at me. "If I am to eat, then I would like something warm."

"I'll nuke it in the fucking microwave, then." I tell him. Grabbing the sandwich, I head for the door, but I hear him muttering about hating sandwiches as I leave.

I wait until I'm out in the hall to throw the thing, plate and all at the wall. Fucking Christ. The team expects me to take care of that manchild because they think we're good friends, but god damnit if I don't want to beat the shit out of him every time he refuses to listen.

He'd probably still be an indifferent bastard bout it too, all, "oh, that hurts, petit. Can I go back to bed, now?"

Medic peeks out the door of his infirmary. Sniper and Heavy are in there with him, and I just glare at all three of 'em before turning on my heel and storming off to the kitchen.

Doesn't want a sandwich, wants something hot. Medic said if I don't get Spy to eat, he'll be useless to us on the field (not that he's really being an asset now in his "oh, cold and sad me!" state). It's been a few days since I last saw him eat, and that was only a little bit of Engie's chili.

Something warm… I glance around the kitchen and then start digging through the pantry. Most of the canned stuff is dumb, like veggies and PET condensed milk. The cans of soup usually get used up before a week after our supply run comes, but I find some tomato paste and a can of chunked chicken. There's cans of carrots and peas and I think a little bit of broth left somewhere in the back.

After some digging, I find everything but the carrots. There's some potatoes, though, so that'll work I guess.

The saucepan I find that's big enough to warm up the soup in is dirty, so I have to wash and dry it before tossing everything inside and waiting around for it to heat up. Honestly, he's just so much fucking trouble. It starts to bubble and I stir it before adding some seasonings and cleaning two bowls and spoons.

"Whatcha makin', Scoot?" Engie's sniffing as he waltzes in, and I mumble curses under my breath in response.

"Ah." He chuckles and starts cleaning a bowl for himself. "That darned Spy?"

"Yeah. Fuckin' pansy." I mutter, stirring the soup more before ladling out a portion into my bowl and Spy's. "Picky-ass Motherfucker."

"Like my Mama always said, if you don't want to take care of it, don't pet it and feed it in the first place." Engie chuckles and gets some for himself once I'm out of the way.

"Whatever. You'd have to fucking _pay_ me to pet that asshole." I grumble on my way out of the kitchen. When I get back to Spy's room, I kick the door, because I'm not juggling bowls and I only have two damn hands.

"What?" He sounds a little irritated, but he's not as annoyed as me. I'm going to have to scrape the mayo and cheese off the wall across from his room later today.

"Open the fucking door." It comes out meaner than I want, but it doesn't make him move any faster. "God fucking—do you want fucking soup or not?"

I hear him shift inside, and that's at least an improvement. Soon the door opens and I scowl at Spy harder.

"I…" he clears his throat and steps to the side, still smoking a cigarette.

"That's what I fucking thought." I snort and walk in, placing the food on his desk and perching on his bed with my own bowl.

"Sean… please don't eat on my bed." He sounds tired, and maybe a little apologetic.

I mimic his syllables in an annoying voice, and he sighs again before settling at his desk and starting to eat.

When I'm half-finished with my bowl, I move to join him at his desk. "Feeling a little less bitchy now?" I ask, stealing a chunk of chicken from his bowl.

"… yes." He smiles at me, and it's the closest thing to awkward I've ever seen on Spy's face. "Thank you."

"You throw a bitch fit like that again, I'm going to punch you."

"_Oui_…" he mumbles, and I steal another chunk. He hits my leg, and I smirk before holding it out on my spoon for him to eat.

:::::

day 22 - huddle for warmth

The first night that the heater froze, Sean was too busy posturing to join the team in a clustered mass of conjoined warmth. I think his realizing his orientation has made him even more paranoid of the team thinking that anything he does is gay. He seemed not to realize that if the other eight men on the base were participating, it is unlikely that they would call him a faggot.

I stayed with him that night, at least offering my warmth so that he might keep his stupid pride. Upon the second instance, however, I joined the team. Sean appeared briefly to see if I was there, and then left just as (surprisingly) quietly as he came. We slept in the Medic's infirmary, mattresses from the bunks pulled down to the floor, blankets from rooms, both company provided and personal thrown together in a haphazard smash of desperation for warmth. Arms were folded, legs curled in to preserve our core temperature, and prevent heat from escaping further.

I didn't sleep particularly well, so I heard the door open as Sean returned, and the chattering and hitch as he whispered my title.

"Here, _petit_." I murmured softly, raising myself slightly and slinking back to press flush against Heavy's back. It wasn't much space, but it was enough for Sean. His blanket wrapped frame slipped beneath the covers allotted to me— a triple layer shared between Heavy, Medic and myself. He didn't struggle as I wrapped my arms around him, and rubbed the warmth into his back and sides and curled my sock-clad feet with his in every effort to share my heat, to help chase away the cold.

"S-spy… It's fuckin' cold…"

"Shut up, Scout." A burly arm draped across us and I felt the shift of covers that smelled like dust and coffee and the slight musk of being well used and unwashed.

"Bushman, I told you that I didn't want any part of your foul blanket."

"Shuddup."

"This is _so_ gay."

"Shut the fuck up, and sleep, or I shall kick all three of you out of my infirmary." The three of us quiet down, and I feel Sean shift closer to me. I suppose I will have to help him mend his pride come morning.

::::

day 23 - sick

A hospital room.

A fucking hospital room the day after Christmas.

I try to smile when I walk in, and Thierry gives me one of those confident smirks from the bed. He looks paler than normal, and his chest shudders when he takes a breath to speak.

I'm not listening, just focused on the ugly hospital gown and the tubes and needles and… and…

"_Petit, petit_, come here." Thierry sounds like I'm feeling, and I hop on the bed and hug him gently, but his hug is firm and hard, so I feel less worried about hurting him, and give the same force in return.

"Fuck, I can't believe this."

"I know." He kisses my cheek and his thumb brushes unshed tears from my lashes.

"Just… j_ust fuck_." I crumple into him, and he holds me. He's the sick one, and I'm the one being held. Fucking… _just_fuck.

"It is only cancer, _petit._ I have our Medic's contact details, if it will make you feel better." He chuckles, and it crackles in his lungs.

"I don't… I…" We know a good doctor. We know a _great_ doctor.

Why am I so worried?

"What the fuck are we going to do if he can't… And then what if it comes back…? _What am I going to do_ _without_-" He puts a finger on my lips, and kisses it before pulling it away and using his lips to keep me quiet. I'm still worried, and his mouth tastes weird since he hasn't smoked in like a whole twenty-four hours, but it helps.

"_Je ne vais nulle part, petit_." He tells me.

_I'm not going anywhere._

"_B-Bon.._." I whisper, kissing him one last time before crawling off and moving to sit in the chair by his side. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

:::::

day 24 - socks/boots

Insistent, hard, pounding, heavy boot steps echoed through the base. Thierry assumed that it was Soldier on a rampage again, but Sean rushing into his room and dragging the ruckus with him told him otherwise.

"Sean, what are you—?"

"Nope, no time. Hide me." Sean then jumped into Thierry's closet and all fell silent again.

The Spy was just about to shrug his lover's not quite weird behavior off when his door was thrown open, and Solider walked in in his socks. Thierry winced at the smell of boot fungus and was suddenly /worried/ that Sean was in his closet with those boots.

"WHERE'S THE BRAT, SPY?!"

"If you can't follow the smell of your own boots, then you shall never find him." Thierry told Soldier, standing from his desk. "You can be assured that I have seen the state your boots are in after battle, and I would never allow them in my room, much less _my closet_ which is the only possible hiding place here."

"… So can I check your closet?"

"No, you may not."

"WELL, I'M SURE HE'LL TURN UP. KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED!" Soldier saluted smartly before stalking off to harass someone else about their delinquent Scout.

Thierry shut the door behind Soldier and locked it. He waited until the other man was an appropriate distance away before walking over to his closet and opening the door.

Sean looked like he was about to say something when Thierry held up his hand. "Take off the boots. Open my window and throw them outside. Take my basin and soap and scrub your feet. Then, and only then, may you stay here and hide from Soldier."

"Pft, that's going to be hilarious, him finding them outside." Sean snickered as he did as he was told.

"Indeed… now hurry up, they smell like hell."

:::::

day 25 - trade gifts/donate

What the fuck do you get a Spy for Christmas?

Chances are, if you've just met him, you ain't seen his room. I have. I've seen his tie collection, and it's almost as extensive as my baseball card cache. Ties are a no go.

He's got custom made Italian blahblahblah shoes. Point is, any shoes I pick out ain't gonna be good enough. Ever. I don't even know how to pick out a pair of nice dress shoes for me, let alone a well-dressed guy like him.

Socks are just… too… _Ugh_. Socks are something that your ma buys you because she knows you won't buy 'em yourself in the next eleven months.

He's got a radio, the base has a TV, his knife and gun kits are always in good condition, so they don't need replacing…

And I _know_ he's going to have a great gift for _me_. He always gets the perfect thing, something I need and would want. How does he always fucking know what to get?

I'm not getting him cologne or aftershave, because I fucking love the way he smells, and I can never find the bottle when I raid his toiletries trying to figure out what kind it is.

Stationary? Maybe… I know he likes to write and send letters and shit, so a new pen too. Maybe monogramed with "#1 Spy" or something.

What do guys like him want?

I know in the past, he's taken me out to dinner and a hotel, y'know as romantic gestures when we got the chance. Maybe I could do something like that too?

Just… _seriously_, what could Spy possibly want?

It clicks really suddenly, and I feel like a complete idiot before jumping out of my bed and grabbing my shoes. I have calls to make.

The first one's an apology to Ma.

She's sighing and griping at me by the end of it, but it doesn't matter.

The second call is to the travel agency. I tell 'em to switch our Christmas tickets this year from Boston to Paris.

I dunno how I'm going to keep from grinning at him for the next three days.

:::::

"So, are we going to exchange presents this morning?" I ask, taking a long, slow drag off of my morning cigarette. Sean wriggles his way up my body and gives me an excited little look that quickly smooths itself over. He's been doing that a lot lately—have this eager little smile on his face when he looks at me, and then realize it moments later, and it's mysteriously gone.

"Why don't we wait until we're at the hotel?" That grin tugs at his lips, but he hides his face against my neck in a kiss.

"We are not staying at your mother's this year? Is this my present?" I joke, of course. His family is… well, very nice, considering the circumstances. Certainly very accepting, but I would like to be able to have an intimate week of nights alone with my lover. It has been far too long.

"Nah, it's a little bit better than that." He snorts and nips my collarbone. "You better like it." It's a mumble against my sternum, and I chuckle softly, resting my free hand on his hair and ruffling it fondly.

"If all else fails, I will count the queen sized bed in our hotel as your present to me." I tell him, tilting his head up for a kiss before rolling him off of me and sitting up to put out my cigarette.

"Pft, I thought you liked this small ass bed. Keeps us close." He wraps his legs around me to prevent my further movement, and I slap his hip lightly.

"If we are to make our flight, you will let me get dressed." Another slap, this time on his ass, and his legs release me.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep your—oh wait, you ain't got pants." His hand returns the abuse, and I smirk at him over my shoulder.

The team is used to seeing us board the same flight—they think that I have an apartment in New York. Sean keeps both of our tickets to himself, and waves to the others as we approach our gate—for Washington, of all places.

"Sean… why are we going to Washington?"

"It was the last flight I could get. We'll connect for Boston from there." He's already bouncing into line and apologizing to the woman for our being late, so I follow him, slinking along beneath the irritated glares of those who had been waiting in line for second class seating.

"Hmm…" I follow Sean on when the attendant checks our tickets and motions us past. "Are you certain that this was the last flight you could get? It's already going to be a long flight from West to East…" It's not that I particularly enjoy whining. Flying is just something I would rather do as little as possible.

"Yep. Positive."

The flight is quiet. I order wine, and Sean asks for a Coke. I sleep for half an hour, but Sean wakes me when he slips past to go to the bathroom.

By the time we land in Washington, I need a cigarette. Sean taps his foot as I stand by the luggage claim, reviewing the board and taking a relieving drag.

"_Petit…_" I run my eyes over the board again. "What flight did you say we were on? There are no directs to Boston from here."

"Don't worry about it." He grabs my suitcase and nods toward the ashtray. "Let's go, ashhat."

"Hm…" He seems nervous, but I follow him, allowing him to carry my luggage for me. If it makes him feel better, why not?

"Stop 'hm…'ing at my ass, faggot."

I _think_ it is making him feel better, anyway.

We stand before the gate, and Sean sets our luggage down. I run down the list in my mind, and wonder if I misremembered the numbers, or got off someplace. When the attendant steps up with a bright smile and announces, "Flight 347 from Seattle to Paris is now boarding…" I feel…

God, I don't know how I feel. Surprise, excitement, a longing being answered. I glance at Sean, and his face has a persistent blush.

"We're going to Paris?" I ask.

"We're going to Paris." He confirms.

Love. I am _truly_ in love with this boy.

:::::

day 26 - foggy breaths

Being so close to him makes the air colder. His lips don't want to leave mine, and his hands—oh God, his _hands_—think that they can just go wherever they please. They're warm, though, from being enclosed in mittens as he darts around the snowy field. My trousers are not much for keeping out the cold, and long underwear doesn't help as much as I was lead to believe it would. His hands help, though.

They are warm against my waist, then my ass and thighs as he lifts up and shoves me back against the cold metal wall. I don't pay it any attention, don't care that it's too cold for this kind of thing. His hips thrust against mine. We are both still clothed, but the friction warms me and causes my cock and testicles to feel just barely like they are no longer being subjected to the cruelest of tortures.

Steamy breaths hiss out of our noses, and I eventually can't take the cold sting anymore. I force him back and the thick clouds of warm breath meeting cold air bloom between us. Our eyes meet, and he laughs before darting in for another kiss. I smirk against his lips as his warm tongue invades my mouth, and his hands—

"Sean, no." I gasp, his tongue still between my lips.

"Ugh, c'mon, I just want—"

"We are in the middle of battle, kissing is—it's just different." My hand is on his elbow, keeping his warm—oh, so _warm_—hand from finishing its course down the front of my underwear. "It—It will take too long." I'm less and less sure that I don't want that hand on my cock as he looks at me with those grey eyes, narrowed in correspondence with the vibrance of his grin.

"Oh shit, I just made you stutter." His grin widens, and a foggy breath hits my neck through my balaclava, and I melt back against the wall.

"It was the cold." I lie, mustering myself and shoving him away. Redoing my pants and belt, I ignore the look he's giving me.

"I'll make sure you're not cold tonight." He promises and picks up his bat from the snow where he had dropped it. He points it at me as he starts walking off and winks before turning to run away, back into the snowy landscape.

Left alone with myself, I feel a little warmer than when he'd initially found me. If the heater breaks tonight, I will surely kill Engineer for faulty work.

:::::

day 27 - ski

"I'm fucking _telling you_ this is a bad idea." He won't listen to me. I don't know why I keep trying to fucking _tell him_.

_I don't want to learn how to fucking ski. Fucking fuckity fuck _**fuck.**

"Ah, petit. Trust me." He says it like it's so simple a thing to do. Well, I guess it is. Since, y'know, I trust him not to cheat on me or anything or make any moves on my Ma when I leave with my brothers and he's at home with her alone. But _God damn it, I don't want to do this_. "Hm… if you don't at least get a bunny trail down, we will go back to the cabin and I will not make you hot chocolate and make love to you before the fireplace."

_God damn it_.

"But… I… _fine_." I whine and bitch, but slowly, slowly, I uncross my skis and let him calmly direct me through what I need to do to move forward, to stop. Eventually, he takes my sticks from me, because I'm using them as pseudo-crutches and he doesn't want me to break our rental equipment.

It's a process, but I start to gain confidence. My calves are burning, and the insides of my thighs feel like I've been using muscles I'm not used to. This might actually help me with running. He shows me how to turn, how to use it in slowing down and then how to speed up. Man, sliding forward on these things is like—I don't even know if I can run this fast, and the only effort is in turning and slowing down and man, I kind of want to try an actual trail.

Once he's happy with me, he gives me my sticks back and leads me over to the lift.

I hold his arm all the way up and lean my head on his shoulder, kind of glad that he didn't give up with me, but not wanting to say so. Because, y'know, that would mean that I was being a whiney little baby for nothing.

"This will just be a simple slope. There may be trees, but you can turn to avoid them. If you ever feel like you're going too fast, do not use your sticks, just make a V with your skis, _oui_?" He explains to me as we approach the top.

"Yeah, okay." I nod and kiss his cheek before straightening. "Uh… how do I fuckin' get off this thing?"

"Just hold your skis level, and support your weight with your knees. You shall just glide off." He levels his skis and shifts a bit. I do too and support myself like he said.

A shout and a little flailing later, I'm on my butt with my skis on the ground still and my knees in the air. He's chuckling, and I tell him to fuck off as I try to get back up, but with skis and snow and slippery as fuck, I end up using his hand. My knees hurt a little after that, but I'm going to do this fucking "bunny trail" and get my hot chocolate and fucking by the fire if it kills me. I'm too stubborn to die until I get my reward anyway.

"I knew you were flexible, _petit_, but I didn't know that you could do that." He teases me as he leads me over to the hill.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll show you that and a lot more once we get down this hill." I tell him, giving the smug bastard a nudge and slowing to a graceless stop. Spy, though. Fuck. It's like he was born on these things.

"Of course." He chuckles and nods his head. "Go first, I'll follow."

I ease myself forward, keeping my skis in a V most of the way down. Spy makes a loop around me, and I tell him to fuck off before finally going a little faster. I zig zag the rest of the way down, enjoying it a little more than going straight down quickly. It's actually starting to get pretty fun.

"You, uh… you wanna go again?" I ask, figuring I'll try going a little faster. It's just a small hill. What's gonna happen if I go a little faster maybe?

"If you'd like."

This time, I don't fall down after the lift, and I beat Spy to the bottom of the hill.

"Got a bigger hill? This one's kind of short."

He smirks and ruffles my hair before gliding toward the lift. "One more time, _lapin_, and then we shall find you a more appropriate hill."

:::::

day 28 - knitting

It's something I decided to learn from Sniper. I'm quick to pick things up, and even quicker to make them my own. His stitches are loose and the things he makes are lumpy. I count my stitches carefully, alternate methods to create patterns and make sure that each one is consistently tight and perfect. I haven't let Sean see me knit yet. He will tell me that I am being gay, and that it isn't something men do, but… I would like to think that he will treasure a scarf that I make him. He loves the gifts I guy him, and it will really just be a personal victory to know that he might love something just as much that I make for him. I only wish he could appreciate it _more_ because I made it… but, I don't know.

It's hard to tell how he will react sometimes.

The wool is soft and warm in my lap, and I work with quick, tight movements. Christmas is soon, and I would like for this to be ready by then.

:::::

"Please tell me that you didn't make this." Sean groans as he picks up the wool scarf and fingers the stitches carefully.

"Why?" I roll my eyes and scoff. "Would that make me more of a fag in your eyes?"

"Well, yeah. I mean… _seriously_, _knitting_? You'd remind me of my mom, and I just can't fuck under those circumstances." He replies, finally draping it around his neck and tossing an end over his shoulder. "Mmm… it's really warm, and soft." His hand comes up to rub the plush threads against his cheek, and I cover my pleased smile with a sigh.

"Yes, well, only the best for you, _mon petit_." He suddenly hugs me, a proper thank you muffled into my shoulder. "You are welcome." I tell him with a soft chuckle into his hair.

:::::

"So… you _did_ make this?" Sean asks, his expression unreadable as he holds the scarf I'd given him last year.

I knew that I shouldn't have started talking to his mother about knitting yesterday. I'd asked her not to tell him, too! I suppose a woman is not a person I should confide secrets in, though, and so it is really my fault.

"Yes." I reply, trying to keep the pain that his holding it away from him was causing. "I picked it up. I thought you might like a new scarf."

"You said you _didn't_ though."

"No, _petit_, I'm quite certain that I didn't." I say, my voice softer than I intend as I stand and attempt to pass him on my way to get a cup of tea, or a cookie, or anything, really, that will deter him from asking more questions I don't want to answer.

"Hey, where are you going?" He asks, stepping into the door way.

"I don't want to be here when you throw it out." I tell him, crossing my arms and turning away. "If it will make you happy, I will cease to knit. It will be as if it had never—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

I glance at him and _that _ is when I start to feel utterly silly.

"You want a man, not a faggot, correct? Knitting is something you consider faggoty, and a woman's job…" I watch a smile slowly stretch across his face, and then it breaks into a grin. "I thought that you—"

He cuts me off with a kiss, and wraps the scarf around the back of my neck to keep me close.

"You don't actually care." I breathe, when he lets me pull back. He just snorts and kisses me again.

"You know I only mean half the assholey shit I say." He laughs and wraps the scarf around his neck even though he's still in his pajamas.

"So you still like it?"

"Nope." He grins and leans forward to press his lips against mine. "I fuckin' _love _it."

:::::

day 29 – power outage

It's cold when I wake up, and not even the body next to me or the blankets helps. I think I wake him up when I burrow closer, and he mumbles something about the heater. God, why'd we have to fuck last night? My clothes are all over the floor, and I dunno where they are because it's still dark.

"Spy…" I whisper, nuzzling my nose against his neck. "Spy, go get my clothes… please?" I figure it might work. I've been busting my ass taking care of his baby-ass all posting, it's about time he did some work for me.

He grumbles some French at me, and I shiver, pressing closer. "I don't know what that means, but I'm about to take it as a yes and kick you out of here if you don't go at least turn the light on."

"You are Scout. Zip over to turn them on. And zip back, _oui_?" His accent's really thick with sleep, and I kick his calf lightly. "… and you still have socks."

God, I have the most pathetic boyfriend in the world. "Fine, but you're fucking making me a big ass breakfast." I tell him. I steel myself before I jump out of the bed, trip over a shoe and flick the light switch.

Nothing happens.

"I do not think so, petit." He groans from the bed and I hear the covers shift as he finally sits up. "It seems the power—"

He was probably about to say that the power was out, but I don't hear it because the motherfucking door slams into me.

"SPY! SPY THE POWER IS OUT."

I bite my lip and wipe blood from my forehead, silently laying in the dark while Soldier focuses a flashlight on Spy. He holds his covers up to his nose and glares at that fucking overly patriotic asshole and I see his eyes dart to where I was before going back.

"_Oui_, I noticed."

I grope blindly for some sort of pants and end up with Spy's briefs. I pull them on anyway and stand up before interjecting into their bickering match. "Yeah, I was just fucking complaining about it to 'im." I say, whacking Soldier's helmet and carefully kicking my shirt and pants out of sight now that the flashlight provided a bit of light and my eyes had adjusted. " 'til you clocked me a new one with the goddamned door."

"PRIVATE, YOU WOULD DO WELL NOT TO ASSAULT YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER."

"Yeah, yeah. Go bother Engie, Sargent Screamin' Seagulls. It's an electrical thing, right?" I try to seem casual with my hands on my hips, but it's really just to keep Spy's underwear up.

"NEGATORY. WE NEED THE FROG'S ASSISTANCE IN DISCONNECTING THE ENEMY SPY'S SAPPER FROM THE FUSE BOX." He's like half an inch from my face by now, and I close the distance by half just to make sure he knows I ain't backing down.

"Yeah? Well then maybe you should be less of a douche if you need his help, ever thinka that?"

"I WAS MERELY—"

"Boys, if you are going to fight, then take it out of my room." Spy's hands intervene between us and push us back to a good glaring distance. So far he has his mask on, pants on and a shirt draped around his shoulders. "Soldier, I will meet you and Engineer in the supply room. Do not touch anything lest you cause more damage, _oui_?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. LEAVE THE BRAT SOMEWHERE ELSE. IF HE SMARTS OFF TO ME AGAIN, I WILL PUT HIS HEAD THROUGH THIS WALL." He points to the wall next to the door before saluting at Spy, tossing me an irritated and irrational glare, and marching back out.

A few seconds after the asshat leaves and Spy closes and locks the door, I realize that it's _cold as hell_ and I still only have a pair of underwear on. "F-fuck, you got a torch?" I ask, leaning down to scoop up my shirt and at least get a hand on my pants.

"Hm…" He opens a few drawers in his desk before lighting a lantern. Better than what I was hoping for.

I spot and grab _my _underwear and am in the middle of switching them out when he wraps his arms around me and I feel a kiss on my forehead. "Hey, hey, we gotta hurry and get dressed—what if he comes back?"

"I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am, _petit_." He smirks at me in the dim light and gives my slack lips a peck. Fuck if I know what I did.

"Yeah? Well, I mean, yeah. I'm not afraid to stand up to that asshole. 'Specially not if I'm doin' it for you."

"_Non_, not that." He chuckles and his hand lingers on my hip as he pulls away to finish dressing.

"Oh…" my face feels like it's on fire, and it feels even worse because it's cold in the room. "What'd I do, then?" I ask, a tickling sensation on my temple reminding me that I got a cut to talk to Medic about.

"You thought very quickly." He tells me, buttoning his shirt and pulling on a sweater over it. And then another one. "I was expecting you to send Soldier through respawn for barging in here like that." He adjusts his mask a bit in the mirror he has on the wall and grabs some socks before rolling them on.

"Yeah, well… me 'n' you in your room and naked… there ain't a whole lot of explanations… an' I've been thrown into walls harder than that." I wipe the blood from my forehead on my hand and then my hand on my shirt before scooping up my jacket and pulling it reluctantly on. The worst feeling _ever_ is when you pull on your jacket and it's cold on the inside.

Spy gives me a little smile as he pulls on his gloves and moves to rifle through his drawers again.

"You really liked me not fucking his shit up?" I ask, plopping into the chair and then standing right back up because the wooden surface is freaking freezing.

"_Oui_, it showed that I'm rubbing off on you." His voice has a teasing edge to it, and I make a face when he glances at me.

"Yeah, with all the rubbing you _do_, it'd probably be hard not to get a little Spy on me." I tell him with a cheeky grin and a debonair wink.

"Nonetheless, remind me that I owe you a big breakfast when we get the electricity back on."

"Pft, you think you have to remind me to remind you?" I ask, pulling on my shoes next to his door and heading off to my own room when he gives my ass a pat and walks off toward the supply room.

Pft. _Spy_ rubbing off on _me_? That's _stupid_.

:::::

day 30 - sing loudly and/or obnoxiously

"Alright, children." Spy claps his hands and the brats settle down—surprisingly. I mean, they don't do that for me or even their own parents. What's so great about Spy that they'll listen to him. "_Bon_, now then, who remembers how to say 'Christmas Carol'?"

Litte Janie raises her hand and kind of does that hopping up and down thing that kids do to try and get noticed. A few of the others raise their hands too, but I think Spy has a soft spot for her, and smiles at her.

"Janie?"

"It's… it's uhm…" she takes a deep breath and fidgets, pushing her bangs back and adjusting her sweater. "It's uhmmmm…"

"_Chants_…" he helps her out a bit.

"_Chants_… uhm… _Chants_ Noel." She mimics his pronunciation on the first word and kind of butchers the "de Noël" part. She's five, though, so who cares?

"Oui, very close." He chuckles and reaches over to pat her head before sitting back and crossing his legs. "It is pronounced '_Chants de Noël_.' " He waves his hand and they repeat him like little lemmings.

"Now then, does anyone remember the first song we practiced yesterday?"

Cade doesn't even raise his hand when he pipes up, "wasn't it something about cake?"

Spy chuckles and shakes his head. "No, no. It was '_Douce nuit_'…" he goes through teaching them how to say it in French, and then one of the brighter ones, James, tells them that it means, "sweet night." Choruses of "suck up" and "Uncle's Pet" ring out over the little congregation of kids, and I smirk at Spy when he glances at me and rolls his eyes. He knows he fucking loves my family.

"Children… children, please… _SHUT THE HELL UP_." It took him a while, but he eventually lowered himself to the O'Conner method of child-wrangling. He waits until he has complete silence before continuing. "You all know that we only have today to finish learning this song. Now then, read from your papers."

It isn't the best song I've ever heard, but French has kind of a flow to it that's different from English. The kids voices are a little less annoying, though, and Spy seems to be enjoying himself at having accomplished a feat so rare—cooperation from a group of kids as riley as they come. They run through it successfully three times—all five loud and off-tune verses of it—before Spy sends them off to play.

"You're real good with kids." I tell him, moving from my seat across the living room to join him on the loveseat.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and I reluctantly lean into him. I still don't like being all… y'know… _faggoty_ around my family.

"Yes, well… I suppose it comes naturally." He rests his cheek on my hair, and I close my eyes.

"Uncle Spy…" I snort and he slaps my shoulder.

"I like it."

As we sit there, listening to the creak of live inside the house, people moving upstairs and kids screaming outside or talking inside while they play dolls or something, I hear a few of them practicing their verses.

"It's a nice night." I mention, sighing and finally letting my head rest on his shoulder.

"_Oui… un douce nuit_."

:::::

day 31 - family/friend pictures

There are many photos on the O'Conner mantle. Occasionally, a new one will be added if the occasion is important enough.

There's a picture of a man and a woman with five sons arranged around them. Another picture with a different man— all eight boys of the family this time.

A rather tall, narrow frame has two sets of four baby pictures, one for each smiling youngster that Ms. O'Conner has raised. There are graduation photos— not eight, mind— and wedding photos. Photos of groups of boys after Sunday mass, and a few of her various athletes line the wooden shelf. Pictures litter the walls of Ms. O'Conner's house as well, the most recent addition taken barely a month ago.

Every year, she and the boys and their fiancés and spouses and children cluster together into a smiling picture—a happy family together again.

This past year, when the boys lined up from oldest to youngest with their own bits of family spread out before them, Ms. O'Conner didn't quite feel like the photo really held their whole family. She looked over at her youngest son's…

_Well_.

Suffice to say that by the time that she was finally satisfied with the picture, there was a middle-aged man in a very nice sweater, and his arm was _not_ around Ms. O'Conner.

He was still family, though, and in the end, she wasn't sure if she had ever had a picture of her son Sean looking so happy. It was, in her mind, worth every, "so who is…?" that was asked. In the end, family's family, and she was going to stand by her boy and his man.


End file.
